Enchanting Melody
Enchanting Melody
Robyn Amos
He loved a challengeYou didn't go from being a poor kid in the hood to making millions on Wall Street unless you had a man-size desire to succeed. Will Coleman had all that–and good looks and a head-turning, hard-muscled body to match. So what if he taught ballroom dancing in his spare time? Will was all man. And all he needed was the perfect woman….She danced to the beat of a different drumThen Melody Rush, a bodacious beauty with long, wavy hair down to her curvy behind–and an equally feisty attitude–walked into his dance studio. And suddenly Will was left wondering if she might be the one.
Enchanting Melody
Robyn Amos
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
I would like to thank my critique partners, Judy Fitzwater, Pat Gagne, Ann Kline and Karen Smith, who have been by my side since the very beginning. Special thanks to my silent critique partner and husband, John Pope. I’d also like to thank my pre-wedding dance instructors, Clifford Kopf, Anne Arundel Community College, and Deborah Joy Malkin, First Dance Impressions.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Melody Rush tossed her waist-length ponytail over her shoulder as she squinted at the drawing board.
“That’s not quite what I’m looking for, Bass,” she told her friend, a hulking goth with bloodred streaks in his black hair. “Can you arch your back a little more?”
“If I arch it any more, I’m going to fall on my head. I’m defying gravity as it is,” he moaned. Arms outstretched, head thrown back, Bass struggled to contort his spine as though reeling from a powerful blow.
Melody tried to sketch faster, realizing she was wearing out her model—which is why she didn’t typically rely on them to develop her comic-book characters. “I’m sorry, dude, but this was your idea, remember?”
For years, Bass had been begging to be the inspiration for a character in one of her graphic novels. Finally, Delilah, her flashy African-American heroine—supermodel by day, electrically-charged crime fighter by night—had beaten up all the local villains and was in need of a fresh archenemy.
“I remember,” he paused to groan. “But, I thought I’d at least get in a few good licks. So far, in all these poses Delilah is kicking my—”
“Bass, I’ve already told you, the Ambassador’s power is primarily cerebral. After this colossal butt-kicking he concocts a mind-control spell to take over the world.”
“Yeah, whatever. Can’t I hit her just once?”
Melody shot him a look, pointedly ignoring the question. “Okay, you can relax. I think I’ve got what I need.” Her pencil flew over the sketch pad in rapid strokes that finally ended in a flourish.
The chains looped through his wide-leg jeans rattled as he straightened. “You ever notice that Delilah’s enemies are always men?” he asked, cracking his neck. “If you’re not careful, your fans will start to think you’re a man-hater.”
“Hah, I’m far from a man-hater,” she said, waving him off.
“I don’t know, you’re much nicer now that we’re not dating. But, I still think you’re using Delilah to express your pent-up aggression toward men.” Bass was forced to take a hasty step back as Melody surged to her feet.
“I do not have pent-up aggression.” Sticking one hand on her hip, she waved the index finger of her other hand in the air. “First, I’ve always been nice—you just didn’t know how to stand up to me. Second, Delilah is not an extension of me. In fact, she’s my polar opposite.”
“Opposite?” Bass snorted. “Come on, she has the same brown skin tone as you, the same unbelievably long hair, and she’s tall and curvy, just like you.”
She answered the lascivious arching of his brow with a hard glare. “Physical similarities mean nothing. Delilah’s a girly-girl. I’m a tomboy. She wears Prada suits and Jimmy Choo shoes. I wear cargo pants and army boots. I’m sick of people trying to draw a connection between Delilah and me. She’s completely fabricated.”
Except, maybe, for her hair. It was Melody’s only true vanity. She’d given Delilah her trademark waist-length hair because she was so proud of it. Though she most often kept it in a braid or ponytail streaming down her back, she was meticulous when it came to grooming it.
“Fine, don’t blame me just because you’re bound by the dark chains of denial.”
She rolled her eyes, sitting back down at her desk. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”
He took a step toward her. “Never mind. Can I see how I turned out?”
“Not yet,” she said, covering the drawing. “I need to play with it a bit more.”
“Fine, but, for all my effort, you’ve got to give me something.” Bass, topping six feet with the build of a heavyweight wrestler, rubbed his hands together like an eager little boy. “How about giving the Ambassador X-ray vision? I’m dying to see what Delilah wears under that catsuit.”
Melody started to quip that he wouldn’t be able to handle it, but was interrupted by the telephone. She crossed the room and glanced at the caller ID—it was her sister.
As much as she loved her younger sibling, she wasn’t in the mood to discuss fabric samples or cake flavors for Stephanie’s upcoming wedding.
After the fourth ring, she answered the line. “What’s up, Steph?”
“Get ready to buzz me in, I’m a block away from your apartment, and I’ve got a present for you.”
Melody sighed, hanging up the phone. These days that could mean a lot of things, and none of them good.
“My sister’s on her way up here, Bass. You may want to hit the road.” Her sister and her best friend detested each other.
Bass rolled his eyes and grabbed his skate-board. “I’m outta here. Have fun drinking tea with the diva.”
The doorbell rang and Mel buzzed her sister through the security doors in the lobby. Moments later, Stephanie breezed into the apartment, filling it with expensive perfume. Casual only by design, she wore denim capri pants with a short denim jacket as a top. She’d completed her outfit with high-heeled sandals and pearls.
Stephanie Rush had retired from runway modeling to plan her New York wedding full-time. If it weren’t for the fact that they lived on opposite sides of the city, Melody would’ve had to tolerate these pop-ins once a day.
As it was, they came at least once a week—every time Stephanie changed her wedding theme, colors or guest list.
“Hey, girl.” Stephanie leaned in to kiss Melody on the cheek before sitting next to the large portfolio she’d propped against the couch. “I just passed Flounder in the lobby.”
“Bass.”
“Right, I knew it was a fish. How is it that a thirty-year-old man still rides a skateboard?”
“Don’t knock it.” Melody had learned to ignore her sister’s none-too-subtle digs at her friends. “Skateboards are fuel-efficient, environmentally-friendly and good exercise.”
“Whatever. Guess what? I have a surprise for you,” Stephanie said in a singsong voice.
Mel braced herself. “Okay?”
Stephanie reached into her Louis Vuitton bag and handed Melody a white envelope. Mel took it and pulled out what looked like a gift certificate.
“This coupon entitles you to six ballroom-dancing lessons from the Moonlight Dance Studio.”
Mel looked from her sister to the coupon then back to her sister. “What fresh hell is this?”
“Now hear me out, Mel. When you agreed to be maid of honor in my wedding you knew there would be certain expectations.”
Melody stuck her hand on her hip. “Yes, wearing an ugly dress, throwing you a couple of parties and buying you a ridiculously-expensive gift. Those are the duties I’ve agreed to fulfill.”
“A Keenan Okofi original is hardly ugly,” Stephanie said with a huff.
Mel rolled her eyes, knowing better than to insult the designs of her sister’s husband-to-be. He was swiftly becoming one of the hottest new names in fashion, or so Stephanie claimed.
“I’m sorry, but you know what I mean. I don’t see where dance lessons fit into this whole deal.”
“Mel, it’s a formal candlelight wedding with a twelve-piece orchestra. There will be a lot of dancing, including the bridal party dance.”
“I don’t need lessons to rock and sway around the floor a few times with Keenan’s sixteen-year-old brother.”
“I’ll have you know that Samir goes to boarding school in London where ballroom dance is a part of the daily curriculum.”
“Poor kid,” she scoffed.
“Mel, there will be a lot of important people there. Don’t you want to make a good impression?”
Melody felt an icy tingle of suspicion at those words. They were all too familiar. “Did Mother put you up to this?”
Stephanie winced, dropping her gaze to the floor.
There wasn’t any use in denying it, Melody thought. Their mother had never given up trying to mold her eldest daughter into the perfect image of African-American high society—no matter how futile the effort.
Stephanie reached out to squeeze Melody’s arm. “Okay, she might have made the suggestion, but you know I never would have gone along with it if it hadn’t been a good one. Our wedding guests aren’t just important to me, but to Keenan’s career as well. Some of them may ask you to dance, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“Oh, this is about my comfort? Because if it is…” She pointed to her red Converse All-Stars.
“Melody, please. It’s just five lessons. They’ll teach you three different styles of dance. Just enough to get you through the wedding reception. Say you’ll do it…please, please, please?”
Melody sighed. She was the black sheep in her family of New York socialites—and she was proud of it. Left to her own devices, she would have loved to send a message to her mother: her eclectic lifestyle wasn’t a phase, her friends weren’t going to morph into well-placed celebrities, and she was never going to marry rich.
But, for a change, this wasn’t between just Melody and her mother. She was close to her sisters—both Stephanie and their youngest sibling, Vicky. And she’d already promised to do whatever chores were necessary to make Stephanie’s dream wedding a success. Apparently that included clopping around the dance floor like a horse in ballet slippers.
“You’re lucky I love you, Steph, because I wouldn’t risk this kind of humiliation for just anyone.”
“Thank you, big sis,” Stephanie screeched, crushing her in a tight hug. “Now wait until you see Keenan’s latest designs for the bridesmaids’ dresses. I’ve changed my mind about the black-and-white ball gowns. We’re thinking of going with these authentic African robes in red and gold….”
Will Coleman glanced at his watch. It was time to start class and there was still one student on the roster who hadn’t arrived. Someone always bailed at the last minute.
Rubbing his hands together, he moved to the center of the studio floor. “Good evening, everyone. This is Beginners Ballroom Dance, and I’m your instructor, Will. In this class you’ll learn the fox-trot, swing and waltz. Are you ready to get started?”
The class mumbled a faint response. “Okay, I’d like everyone to line up across from their partners. Followers on the right, leaders on the left.”
Will turned around to close the curtain that sectioned off the large dance floor, and a movement in the doorway caught his eye. A young woman was trying to sneak away.
“Excuse me for one second,” he said to the class and walked over to poke his head into the hallway.
“Miss? Miss, are you looking for Beginners Ballroom Dance?”
The woman turned slowly, clearly embarrassed. For a second Will thought he might have made a mistake. This woman didn’t look anything like his typical dance students.
She was dressed in tan cargo pants, low black boots and a scanty black tank top that revealed a tattoo of a Chinese character on the small of her back.
“Um, I didn’t realize I needed a partner, so…” She shrugged and took a step backward, clutching the end of her long braid in her fist.
He motioned her forward. “You don’t need a partner. Come on in.”
She hovered in place, clearly unsure what to do. Will reached out and took her by the wrist, gently pulling her into the room. She came willingly at first, but began to resist when she saw the lineup of the class.
“Everyone’s paired up already,” she whispered to him.
Will smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Don’t worry about that. We do a lot of rotating, but you can start out as my partner.”
A look of pure horror contorted her face, and he laughed out loud. “Trust me,” he said, leading her over to where the other ladies were already lined up. “This will be completely painless.”
Will was intrigued with his new student, but all eyes were on him, waiting patiently for instruction, so he couldn’t indulge his fascination with her.
“Today we’re going to learn the fox-trot. This is one of the most common patterns associated with ballroom dancing. It’s the one that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers made famous. The rhythm for the fox-trot is slow, slow, side step. Slow, slow, side step.”
He demonstrated the steps first for the men and then for the women. “Okay, now has everyone got that?”
Across the room, he could already see that his pretty new student was having trouble. She was struggling to shift her weight and not trip on the side step.
“Let me emphasize for the ladies that you’ll be stepping back with your right foot. So it’s right, left, side step. Good, now let’s partner up and give it a try.”
He motioned for his reluctant partner to join him in the center of the room. “What’s your name?”
“Mel…uh, short for Melody,” she answered softly.
“Okay, class, Melody is going to help me demonstrate proper frame. Square up with your partner like this.” Will explained the basics of frames and maintaining proper resistance between partners.
Normally, he could recite this spiel in his sleep, but today he was struggling to concentrate. There were too many variables splitting his attention. First, he had to keep his eye on the rest of the class to be sure they were keeping up. Next, he had to help his timid partner who was fighting him every step of the way. And finally, he was trying to keep his hands from sliding off her tiny top to her bare skin.
“Not so much resistance, Melody,” he said to her, then louder to the class, “Followers should be pushing against the leader’s shoulder lightly. Keep in mind we’re dancing, not wrestling.”
Melody wrinkled her nose. “Why do you keep calling us followers?”
At this proximity, Will was tempted to whisper his answer directly into her ear. Instead, he forced himself to remain in instructor mode. “Did you hear that, class? Melody would like to know why I keep referring to the ladies as followers. Anyone want to answer that question?”
A stocky young man with swarthy Italian features piped up, “Because the men are always in charge.” A few of the women in the class groaned.
“That’s right, on the dance floor, the men are always the leaders. It’s the woman’s job to receive signals from the man and follow through. Now let’s try the step together.”
Will continued to try and lead the class while dancing with Melody, but it was becoming obvious that she wasn’t picking up the movements as quickly as the rest of the class. “Whoa, Melody, you don’t move until I move.”
She released an exasperated breath. “Then why bother teaching me the step at all if I’m not allowed to do it? I can be your little puppet, and you can move my legs for me.”
Startled by her outburst, Will reminded himself that first-time dancers became frustrated easily. He tried to soothe her by speaking softly. “Learning to follow isn’t easy. It’s a skill, just like leading. You’ll pick it up eventually.”
A rumble of voices caught Will’s attention, and he realized that he’d gotten so caught up in helping Melody that he’d neglected the rest of the class. He’d failed to stagger the couples at the start of the lesson, and now they’d danced themselves into a crowded jumble in one corner of the room.
“I’m sorry, class, this is my fault. Let me have three couples on the right side of the room and four on the left.” Will left Melody to practice a few steps on her own as he made his rounds to the other couples. Then he led Melody to the center of the room once again.
“How are you doing? Think you’ve got it now?” He pulled her into position before she could respond. “Good, now let’s try the patterns all together. Slow, slow, side step…slow, slow—don’t step back so far, Melody, you’re going to—”
Will tried to catch her, but it was too late. Melody’s rubber-soled boots stopped short, but her body kept going and she slipped through his grasp. With a pathetic thud, she landed on her backside at his feet.
“Thank you, class. That will be all for today.”
Chapter 2
The dance instructor offered a hand to help Melody to her feet, but she pushed him away and dragged herself up. “I’ve got it.”
She spun around, making a beeline for the exit. Stephanie had wasted her money. Walking on hot coals carrying an anvil was time well spent compared to this.
“Hold on! Melody, wait.” Will caught up with her and halted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? Did you injure yourself?”
When she didn’t immediately turn, he held her shoulder firmly and spun her around. The bold, masculine move surprised her, and his touch shot through her like an electrical jolt. Heat rushed to her cheeks so quickly, they tingled. Melody jerked out of his grasp, annoyed at Will for having the nerve to reduce her to mush—and at herself for complying.
This wasn’t right. She didn’t get all gooey inside every time an attractive man looked her way. On the contrary, she was the one to turn men into jiggling mounds of jelly. They found her intimidating—as well they should.
She lifted her chin. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Please accept my apology. That spill you just took was entirely my fault.”
“Damn, you’re smooth,” she whispered.
“What?”
Dear Lord, had she really just said that out loud? Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse…“I mean, how could my clumsiness be your fault? It’s obvious that I don’t belong here.”
“Nonsense, it’s my job to maintain the frame. I got distracted and let it go slack. That’s why you fell.”
Melody opened and closed her mouth. Was this guy for real? Nobody had that much class.
She’d grown up surrounded by the wealthy upper crust, and they were some of the most entitled, unapologetic types she’d known. But this guy was nothing like them—despite the fact that everything about him screamed money, from his diamond-studded watch to his designer slacks and silk crew-neck shirt.
Maybe he hadn’t been born wealthy. That would explain it. On his hands, as well-manicured as they were, she’d felt a few masculine ridges that hinted at physical labor.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t her type at all. Way too clean-cut. She was so over neatly-cropped hair and a clean shave. But when he smiled, his straight white teeth made a striking contrast against his deep brown skin. And his chocolate-brown eyes were filled with kindness. Her heart jumped in her chest.
This was getting too weird. Time to cut and run. “Look, this isn’t working out, so I’m not going to waste any more of your time or mine.”
His brow wrinkled. “Don’t tell me you’re not coming back.”
She scoffed. “Oh, I’m telling you before you tell me.”
“You can’t give up. You just need to relax a little.”
Mel rolled her eyes. “No, I was awful.”
“It’s only natural that you’d feel tense standing before the entire class. Believe me, you’d do much better with no one watching. Come here.” Will held out his hand.
“Now?”
“Of course. I don’t have any more classes this evening. I want you to see that you can learn to dance.” He flicked the switch on the stereo remote, turning on the music. “Come here.”
Reluctantly, Melody moved into his arms. He was right, it was a lot different without anyone watching…but not in the way that he’d meant.
Suddenly she noticed the intoxicating scent of his cologne. She saw his biceps bulging underneath his shirt. And she was very aware of the proximity of their bodies.
She was so overwhelmed by all these new sensations that she forgot her anxiety over dancing. Mel let herself be swept across the floor in his arms.
“That’s it. See what a difference it makes when you relax and trust your partner?”
Melody looked down and lost her footing, throwing them out of sync. She swore under her breath.
“It’s okay, we’ll pick it back up. Slow, slow, side step. Just follow me.”
Melody tried to repeat the rhythm over and over in her head so as not to embarrass herself again. “I think I’m getting it.”
“That’s right. All you have to do is trust me. You don’t even have to know the moves ahead of time. Watch.” Will broke their frame and twirled her in a circle and turned her at an angle in several more complicated patterns.
Melody glided right along with him, wide-eyed that she was actually dancing. “I don’t believe I did all that,” she said when he resumed the basic pattern.
“Well, you did.” He stopped. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She felt her skin flushing. She felt like a high-school girl. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this much like a girl of any sort. “It was okay,” she said, trying to hide her giddiness.
“And next week will be even better. Promise me you’ll come back?”
Melody looked up into those deep brown eyes and found herself saying the opposite of what she’d planned. “I promise.”
Will regulated his breathing as he increased his pace on the treadmill. He felt his body kick into the zone as sweat began to bead on his forehead.
“Would you be interested in joining the activity-planning committee?” A petite woman wearing a hot-pink sports bra and designer shorts stepped in front of his treadmill.
Will tried to hide his frustration as he slowed his pace. “Excuse me?” he asked, panting.
The woman leaned forward, propping one arm on the electronic panel, inadvertently skewing his workout settings. “I know you’re fairly new to Parkview Heights, and the best way to get to know your neighbors is to join the planning committee. I’m the chair, Abby Rutherford.” She held out her hand.
Will was forced to stop the treadmill and step off. After first wiping his palm on his shorts, he reluctantly shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Abby. I’m Will.”
Bending over, hands on his knees, Will stared at the floor, trying to appear as though he were catching his breath. In reality he was reining in his temper.
“We meet the first Thursday of every month to plan the following month’s events. Can I sign you up for our next meeting in two weeks?”
Will started to answer but was interrupted when another woman sidled up beside Abby and gave her a one-armed hug. In her other arm, the woman carried a Chihuahua in a purple sweat-band and Spandex tank that matched her own. They exchanged greetings and parted with air kisses.
“Don’t forget The Apprentice viewing party in the club floor lounge next Monday,” Abby tossed over her shoulder as the woman headed for the juice bar.
“Sorry about that,” Abby said to Will. “As you can see, committee events are a big hit, and you’ll get to meet all your neighbors.” Her smile turned from friendly to flirtatious.
“Abby, I’d love to join your committee, but I’m afraid my work schedule is really hectic for the next few weeks.”
Will had only been a resident of the luxury apartment complex for three weeks, so he was interested in meeting new people, but not in the middle of a workout.
He’d been varying his exercise routine in the penthouse health club hoping to avoid his chatty neighbors. It was quickly becoming apparent that Parkview residents didn’t come to the gym to work out, they came to be seen.
On his first visit, he’d felt strangely under-dressed for the gym. He’d shown up in faded sweats and a paint-splattered T-shirt, while everyone else wore color-coordinated designer labels. He’d barely noticed anyone breaking a sweat. His own workout had progressed slowly because all the machines were tied up with men and women carrying on leisurely conversations while they kept up the vague appearance of exercising.
Cutting his losses, Will rode the elevator back down to his apartment. The thought of buying his own exercise equipment flashed in his mind for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time he dismissed it.
Despite his hard-won status as one of New York’s more successful stockbrokers, the lifestyle was still too new for him to abandon his working-class values. He just couldn’t waste money on expensive workout machines when his exorbitant rent covered a fully-equipped gym just three floors up. And since he belonged to a rare group of individuals who actually took full advantage of the state-of-the-art machines, the equipment was in excellent condition.
Will dragged his towel across the back of his neck as he entered his apartment. Getting accepted by the Parkview Housing Committee had been an arduous seven-week process involving background checks, prying interviews and several reference letters from well-placed individuals. Now that he was here, the hassle had been worth it. The exclusive residence represented a lifelong climb from Brooklyn factory work to Wall Street success.
Of course things were different here. Different from working two jobs to get by. Different from backbreaking manual labor, sleep-deprivation and night school. Different had been exactly what Will was looking for.
It was just going to take some getting used to, that’s all. But, in the meantime, he needed a dose of reality.
Will sat on the couch with his cordless phone and dialed his younger brother’s number. Tony answered right away.
“Will! Hey, man, what’s up? How’s Park Avenue life treating you? No wait, don’t tell me. I’m not in the mood to shoot myself.”
Tony always pretended that he wanted to switch places with Will, but he knew his brother better than that. Tony had always been quite content with the cards life had dealt him. Will had been the dissatisfied one.
By contrast, Tony had always worked at the plastics factory and had never pursued another career path. He’d started a family at eighteen and was happy with the small apartment he lived in with his wife and three sons. Will knew this because once he’d begun making money, he’d offered to move them into a big house, or upgrade their ten-year-old car, and all of these offers had been firmly refused. Christmases and birthdays were the only occasions Will was allowed to spend money on them, and even then, extravagant gifts were returned.
“Everything’s fine here.” Will heard cheering in the background. “What’s going on over there?”
“Oh, you know how we do. The boys are watching basketball. Frieda’s making hot wings.”
“I love Frieda’s wings,” Will said in an unmistakable plea for an invitation.
“Then come on over, man. You know you’re always welcome here.”
Will started to accept his brother’s offer, but Tony continued, “It’s funny, when you moved to the other side of the tracks, I was worried we wouldn’t see you much. But, you’ve been back in the ’hood almost every day. Basketball at the rec center, pizza night at Shucky’s Bar, you even showed up for dominoes at Little Harold’s two nights ago.”
Will laughed sheepishly. “What are you trying to say? Are you getting tired of me?”
“Nah, bro, nothing like that. I’m just wondering why you worked so hard to get out of the ’hood, just so you could come back and hang here every other night. What’s the matter? Park Avenue ain’t all it’s cracked up to be?”
“Of course it is,” Will answered quickly. “It’s great. Everything’s great. Really great.” Stop saying great, you idiot!
“Good. Don’t forget I’m an old married man. I have to live through you. You’re supposed to be dating some model chick and going to bougie parties where they serve snails and crap like that.”
“Yeah, yeah, all that’s on the agenda. I’ve just been…working a lot. I still teach dance two nights a week.”
“You can’t work all the time. What about dating? Meet any hot girls lately?”
“Hot girls?” A tattooed girl with combat boots and a waist-length braid flashed in his brain. “Oh yeah, they’re everywhere.”
“Ahhh, yeah! Talk to me.”
“Actually, that’s why I was calling. I wanted you and the kids to know you wouldn’t be seeing me as much in the next few weeks. Between work, the dance studio and my impending social life, my schedule’s starting to look pretty tight.”
“Glad to hear it, man. The boys will miss seeing you around, but we’d all rather you had a life. I was starting to wonder if you were afraid to live in that crystal palace you worked so hard to get into.”
Will felt heat wash down his neck as the truth of Tony’s words hit home. “Wow, you suddenly getting deep on me, bro?”
“Hey, I gotta make sure you’re all right. Park Avenue’s a different world. All your peeps are still in Brooklyn.”
“You have nothing to worry about. Everything is fine.”
“Cool. Then the only other explanation is that you still haven’t figured out how to work that talking stove of yours.”
Will laughed hard into the phone, then paused. “How did you know?”
“All right, man, jump in the car and get over here before Frieda’s wings get cold.”
Melody waited in the corner of the dance studio as other couples began to arrive. As the trendy men and women around her chatted amongst themselves or practiced last week’s lesson, Mel chided herself for coming back to class.
She didn’t fit in here. Normally, that was a good thing. But today Mel felt dopey for showing up to class fifteen minutes early. It was silly to have sweaty palms and a stomach doing somersaults. And she felt extra foolish for wearing her black pleated mini skirt to impress the teacher.
She glanced down at the chunky sports watch on her wrist as she eyed the door. Three minutes to go. Maybe she could still—
“Good evening, class.” Will Coleman walked into the room, eliminating all hope of a quick escape. “I’m glad to see some of you practicing.”
Melody swallowed hard, hating the sudden giddiness she felt at the sight of him. He wore tan slacks with a fitted knit shirt that showed off his muscular build. His leather belt matched his brown loafers perfectly. He looked neat. Conservative. Delicious.
She blinked. What was getting into her? Since when was conservative delicious?
Feeling a tiny bit self-conscious, Mel glanced at her mirrored image on the opposite wall. He’d told them to wear leather-soled shoes. The only pair she owned were her black studded cowboy boots. With those she wore opaque gray tights and her mini skirt with black-and-white suspenders hanging free at her waist. On top she wore a black baby-T sporting the word Brat in angry white letters. To complete the look, she’d positioned two ponytails at the back of her head and then bound them together with randomly-spaced rubber bands in a variety of colors.
This was as dressed-up as she got. So he’d damn well better appreciate it.
Will caught her eye and gave her a warm smile. Her knees went weak. And weakness made Melody bitter. She lifted her chin, finding composure in defiance.
“Okay, class, let’s line up. Followers on the right. Leaders on the left.”
Melody got in line. The numbers were still uneven. Will would have to be her partner again. Her heart began to race.
“Now that you all know the basic steps, I want you to get a feel for dancing with different partners. Start with the person directly across from you, and after a few minutes, we’ll rotate.”
Melody’s heart sank. She was anxious to show Will how much she’d improved. At least she’d get to dance with the teacher first, she thought as he approached her.
“Melody, do you mind practicing on your own for this round? I need to be mobile to monitor everyone’s progress,” he said quietly to her, and then more loudly, “Class, each follower will have to dance one round on their own. But don’t worry, we’ll keep rotating so everyone will have a partner most of the time.”
It was all Mel could do not to groan out loud. Why on earth had she come back? Trying not to embarrass herself, Melody dutifully ran through the steps on her own and was feeling pretty confident when it was time to rotate.
An older man with silver hair and a friendly smile walked up to her. He extended his hand. “Hi, my name is George.”
“I’m Mel, um, Melody.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Melody.” George took her into his arms. The music started and he glided with her around the floor with expertise.
“Are you sure you need lessons?” she asked her partner.
“This is more of a refresher course for me. My wife Gretchen is the one who really wants to learn.”
Melody was disappointed when it was time to rotate. It had been nice to dance with someone who knew what he was doing but didn’t stir up those pesky butterflies.
Her next partner, Scott, was a bit more of a challenge. Clearly nervous, he stayed two beats ahead of the music. Feeling good about her progress, Mel took the lead and Scott let her.
“You’re a great dancer,” the redhead said and his face flushed as he struggled not to meet her eyes.
“Thank you.”
Scott moved on quickly, catching sight of the reproachful looks his girlfriend was shooting from across the room.
Her next partner appeared before her, the stocky Italian she remembered from the previous week. “Hi, I’m Melody.”
“Joey,” he said curtly and jerked her into position.
His grip was tight and Melody constantly felt off balance. She tried pushing against him to get control of her footing.
Joey clamped her into a firmer grip and physically moved her across the floor.
“Dude, loosen up.” She pushed against him harder.
“Hey, stop trying to lead.”
“Fine, but you need to stop trying to bulldoze me.”
The two of them moved awkwardly across the floor, occasionally creating so much resistance in their frame that they looked like wrestlers battling for a title belt.
When Joey missed a beat, Mel would try to force him to catch up. “Quit leading,” Joey muttered.
“You’re off beat.”
“You’re supposed to follow me, no matter what.” He applied more force to their frame.
Feeling red-hot anger creeping up her spine, Melody applied some force of her own. “It would help if you were doing it right.”
They were so caught up in their power struggle that neither of them noticed that the music had stopped and the entire class was watching them.
Will walked over. “What’s the problem?”
“She won’t quit leading,” Joey piped up like the whiney tattletale he was.
Mel took a deep breath, trying not to show Will just how evil her temper could get. “I wasn’t trying to lead,” she bit out. “I was just trying to keep him from sweeping the floor with my heels.”
“She’s some kind of control freak.”
Melody whirled on Joey, but before she could even think of wrapping her fingers around the man’s neck, Will had pulled her into his arms. Lifting her arm over her head, he spun her back around in a graceful twirl.
“Okay, class, that’s enough rotating for today. Go back to your original partners. We’re going to learn some turns.”
Chapter 3
For the remainder of class, Will kept Melody at his side as he showed them how to add spins to the basic patterns they’d learned. Once again, as he was dismissing the students and giving them instructions on what to practice for next week, Melody tried to slip out.
“You’re trying to sneak off again?” Will called out before she reached the door.
She turned to face him, looking sheepish.
“I’m going to start taking it personally.”
She walked back over to him. “I just don’t think I have the right temperament for ballroom dancing. I’m not a let-a-guy-control-me type of girl.”
Will let his gaze travel over Melody. She’d struck a brazen pose, hip jutted out and arms crossed. Her catlike eyes, ringed with dark liner, dared him to contradict her. No, she wasn’t the passive type.
Speaking of types. She wasn’t his at all. Her fashion sense was a mix of goth and grunge instead of Gaultier and Gucci. Melody Rush was dark, defiant and every bit the brat her shirt proclaimed.
He took in the shapely legs stemming from her low black cowboy boots and the rippled abs peeking out of her baby-T. On the other hand, she was sexy and he was a man. It just didn’t go much deeper than that.
“Melody, you’ve got it all wrong. Just because the man leads doesn’t mean the woman is passive. It’s our job to make you look good. Like the pedestal under a Ming vase—the man bears the weight so the woman can be admired.”
“Yeah, that’s cute, but you can’t tell me after today that I’m cut out for this. Dancing with some of the guys was okay, but that last one—” Melody formed her hands into a choking gesture.
Will stifled a smirk. “It takes a while to adjust to new partners. The more confident you become in your own dancing ability, the easier it will be for you to adapt to a new partner’s style.”
“You make it sound so easy, but I’m not buying it. I’ve barely gotten used to this pattern, and now you’re talking about teaching swing next week? That’s the one where they throw you around like a rag doll, right?”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Will said, amused. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll give you a sneak peek at next week’s lesson. That way you can practice a few steps on your own.”
Suddenly Melody looked nervous. “No, I don’t want to waste your time. The studio’s closing. You probably want to get home.”
He took a step toward her, holding out his hand. “It’s no problem.”
She took a step back, and he paused. “Unless you’d rather not.” He liked the fact that he could rattle her. He could tell that was something that didn’t happen often.
She visibly swallowed and took his hand. “Hey, if you’re up for it, I am, too. I guess I need all the help I can get.”
Taking the stereo remote from his pocket, he hit the CD changer and a bouncy swing filled the room. “Okay, the basic swing pattern is relatively simple—one, two, rock step.”
He had to show her several times before the rock step began to sink in. “Loosen up. You’ve got to let yourself feel the connection. Try not to think so hard.”
Melody stumbled. “I don’t know about this. Swing seems so corny.”
“Corny? The swing? No way. It’s the most versatile dance of them all. I bet you didn’t know that you can swing to hip-hop music.” He pulled the remote from his pocket and the CD switched to a pounding beat. Will continued to lead her through the basic pattern.
Melody wrinkled her nose. “Hip-hop isn’t exactly my thing.”
He twirled her around then spun her around his back. “Oh that’s right, goth girls are more into metal, right?”
“I’m not much for labels, but yeah, I like rock, punk, alternative…”
“Hmm, I’ve never tried to swing to punk music before. Maybe if you bring some in, we could try it out.”
She regarded him with a wary eye. “Maybe.”
“There you go.” He led her around the room. “You’re getting the hang of it now.”
He watched Melody trying to fight back her grin. “It’s all right, I guess,” she said.
Feeling her confidence growing, Will led her into more complicated steps. Melody followed along like a pro.
“I have to know, what made you want to take ballroom-dancing lessons?” he asked, pulling her close.
Melody scoffed. “Do I look like someone who would want ballroom-dancing lessons? No, I’m the maid of honor in my sister’s circus—I mean wedding. I think she only gave me the title in order to inflict girly tortures upon me—ballroom dancing, pointy-toed shoes, hot rollers…”
The image of Melody in pink taffeta and ruffles scowling at her sister from the front of a church sent a rush of laughter up from his diaphragm. He missed a beat, throwing them off for a second. “Come on, it isn’t that bad, is it?”
“Oh, it’s going to be bad. My family gets one favor and this is it. I only have to be presentable for a few hours,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
Will laughed. “Well, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure you’re the belle of the ball.”
Right on queue, Melody faltered. “I’ll settle for not falling on my butt.”
“No problem.” He lowered her into a steep dip so that she was barely skimming the floor, then he whisked her up into a graceful turn.
His hands slid inside her T-shirt onto the smooth skin of her back. The song on the stereo had moved on to a pulsing erotic beat. For a brief second their eyes locked.
Melody immediately looked away. “So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” she asked when she’d regained her breath.
Will exhaled slowly, taking hold of her hands for less intimate contact.
“I’m a stockbroker. I teach dance part-time. It was one of many odd jobs I used to do, and I still love it.”
“I figured it was a side job. Most people can’t buy designer shoes and diamond watches on a teaching salary.”
“I teach to stay sane. The stock market can be stressful. Dancing relaxes me.”
“Dancing has the opposite effect on me, but I guess that stands to reason since I have two left feet.”
“Nonsense, you’re doing well.” He took her through another pattern. “See that? You’ve just learned two weeks worth of steps in fifteen minutes. Next week, you’ll be way ahead of the class.”
“Great, now I’ve probably forgotten everything I learned from the last two weeks.”
“Not a chance. I’ll show you.” Will changed the music to a romantic melody by Frank Sinatra. He took her into his arms and the two of them immediately fell into fox-trot step.
Will had danced with many women. Old, young, the talented, the uncoordinated and some of the most beautiful, graceful dancers in New York. But there was something he just loved about dancing with Melody.
Dancing with her awakened primitive responses in him he’d never felt before. She would hate to know it but because she was so resistant to being controlled, making her body bend to his will gave him a rush of power.
She had the body of a ballerina, and all the grace of an elephant. But, he was skilled enough to compensate for that. He turned her this way and that, watching her hips and arms move in perfect concert with his. He didn’t want to take his hands off of her.
Will thought she’d been enjoying it, too, until she suddenly jerked out of his arms and pushed him away. She’d moved so quickly he stumbled back a few steps before catching himself.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I think I’ve got it now.”
Will stared at her, still stunned by her sudden retreat. “Um, okay…”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that it’s getting late. I think I should go.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“I mean, thank you—for this. I think it really helped.”
She was chattering a mile a minute. And the truth began to sink into Will’s head. She didn’t know how to handle the attraction between them. He had two choices. He could be professional: slow down, put her at ease and make her feel safe, or…
“I understand. All of this can get overwhelming. Maybe it would help you to get out onto a real dance floor. The Franklin Hotel has cocktails and dancing every Monday night. I could take you after class next week. You’ll have the chance to practice in a less structured environment.”
From the look of pure dread in her eyes, Will was certain Melody would turn him down.
“Next week?” Her voice squeaked slightly.
“Yes.”
Her brow furrowed. “After class?”
“Yes.”
“Just the two of us?”
Will nodded. “That’s right.”
He watched her swallow.
“Okay.”
Melody breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the familiar territory of Alchemy that night—on Mondays it was goth night. There was something so comforting about the red neon skull glowing in the window after an evening in that highbrow dance studio.
Stage lights washed the normally stark walls in a hazy red, and a blue spotlight swirled around the three-man band raging on the tiny stage. Off to one side of the cramped room akin to someone’s basement apartment, she found her friends at a table far from the stage.
“There she is. Finished with ballet class?” Bass called to her.
Mel rolled her eyes. “It’s not ballet—it’s ballroom dancing. And it figures you wouldn’t know the difference.” She pulled up a chair.
“Ballet or ballroom…either way, I’ve just got to see this. Aren’t you going to show us what you’ve learned?” asked her friend, Roland.
People at Alchemy didn’t dance so much as let the music vibrate through them into pulsating—almost convulsive—rocking motions.
“Only if you’re my partner. Do you think you’re up for it, Roland?” Mel challenged.
Roland, with his pale skin and thick, black-framed glasses could easily be mistaken for a college professor. He wore slim black pants, and a black V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt. In fact, he’d look better suited for a library than Alchemy if it weren’t for the spiky black hair that jutted in sharp angles from the top of his head…and the red lipstick.
Roland glanced at his girlfriend Samantha, whom they all affectionately referred to as Tha. “How about it, Tha? Do you dare me?”
Tha was a bleached blonde with three inches of black roots. She wore lip and eyebrow piercings and heavy metallic-green eye shadow. She just shrugged without looking up from her beer. “Mel’s going to make you look like a dork. But, if you’re cool with that, then I’m cool with it.”
Roland got up and moved into an empty space at the back of the bar. Mel shook her head as she followed him. Punk music blared from the speakers above her head. Counting quickly, she abandoned any thoughts of a fox-trot.
“Normally, the man leads. But, between the two of us, I think I qualify the most.” She took Roland’s hands and showed him the pattern Will had taught her earlier that evening. “One, two, rock step. Got it?”
Roland looked baffled.
The beat of the music was frantic, but they eventually managed to fall into a crazed, but steady rhythm. They were doing well enough that Bass and Tha soon joined them, frantically trying to imitate their movements. After several minutes, other people in the club got up to join them.
The band, energized by the dancing crowd, played two extra songs before ending their set for a break. Mel and her friends returned to their table out of breath.
“I can’t wait to tell Will you really can swing dance to punk music,” Mel said to herself.
Just then, a man Melody had never seen before set a beer down in front of her. “You looked like you could use a drink,” he said with a flirtatious smile.
Melody looked from the drink to the guy, then back at the drink.
“What’s the matter, don’t you drink?” he asked.
Mel picked up the glass and passed it back to him. “I don’t drink anything you bring me.”
The guy stood staring blankly for a moment before finally wandering off.
Samantha shook her head at her. “You never cease to amaze me. Everywhere we go, men fall all over themselves trying to impress you. You always shoot them down without batting an eyelash.”
Melody shrugged. “I didn’t ask him for the drink. He volunteered for bartending duty.”
“One of these days you’re going to run into a guy who’s not scared of you.”
Mel shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. “It’ll never happen,” she said, more confidently than she felt.
Deep down, she knew she may have already met that man.
Chapter 4
“Funny, but you don’t strike me as the wall-flower type.”
Will snapped out of his reverie to find himself the target of an unabashed feminine once-over. Standing only five foot five in her glittering three-inch pink pumps, his appraiser craned her neck to take in his full length.
Parkview’s club floor lounge was teeming with trendy singles that Friday night, but all Will could think about was the Knicks game he was missing. His new wide-screen TV had been delivered earlier that week. At that moment, he should have been watching the Knicks clobber the Bulls in high definition.
Abby, the planning-committee chair—hoppedup on a latte—had cornered him at the gym again this morning. She wouldn’t let him get back to the stair-climber until he’d agreed to attend the mixer.
“Wallflower.” The word tasted flat in his mouth. “Is that what I am?” he asked the beautiful young woman.
“You’ve been nursing that same drink since you got here, and you’re holding up this wall as though the roof were caving in. So, yes, you’re behaving like a wallflower.” She sipped from the flared lip of her Cosmopolitan glass. “Is that really how you planned to spend this evening?” she asked with a sidelong glance.
He’d planned to spend the evening with the Knicks, but it was too late for that now. In that instant, Will made up his mind to make the best of the situation. His brother had been right—he needed to start living the lifestyle he’d worked so hard to afford.
He followed his new friend to the bar where he discovered her name was Valencia. As he bought her Cosmopolitans, she regaled him with her escapades as an interior designer for several big-name celebrities. He listened, smiled, flirted mildly and even took her number when she offered it.
As Will rode the elevator down to his apartment, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
He tried to brush the feeling away as he entered his apartment. Valencia was just what he needed right when he needed it—a professional woman who shared his tastes and desires. She was beautiful and petite with smooth dark skin and a trendy haircut. Just his type.
So why did he feel so…disinterested?
Dropping Valencia’s card on the coffee table, Will grabbed his remote. There was still time to catch the end of the game. He stared blindly at the screen until his gaze drifted back to the phone number scrawled across the top of the card. On some strange level he felt as though he should have been with Melody.
But that was ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything wrong. They weren’t even dating. Yet, his mind finished silently.
Did taking her out for an extended dance lesson qualify as a date?
Will wasn’t sure, but it surprised him how much he was looking forward to finding out.
Melody threw down her pencil in frustration and pushed away from her art board. She was supposed to be finishing the panels that introduced the Ambassador story line. Instead she kept absently sketching the angles in Will Coleman’s face.
His face was handsome in all the conventional ways, but that wasn’t what stirred her artist’s fascination. It was the war going on behind his eyes.
He had the makings of a comic-book hero—boy-next-door good looks with a little something extra. The hint of a secret identity, maybe? With her pencil, she darkened his brow into a brooding look. The eyes always showed the strain of a double life.
Snatching the sketches of Will from her drawing board, she shoved them into a drawer. She was projecting qualities on to him that didn’t exist. Will wasn’t a superhero—no matter how perfect she made him out to be.
And she didn’t have time to waste inventing new comic-book characters. She’d gotten up early that morning to get some work done before her house became overrun with wedding paraphernalia. Stephanie had begged her to let them use her apartment to address wedding invitations.
Melody had just started to get a rough outline of the Ambassador’s first panel when she heard the doorbell ring.
Her heartbeat sped up as she crossed the room to get the door. “Bass,” she said, feeling both relief and disappointment. “What are you doing here? My sister will be here any minute with her bridesmaids.”
Bass leaned against the doorjamb, clutching his skateboard and a bag from CompuCity. “And good morning to you, too. I stopped by to check out the first draft of the Ambassador sketches. You said they’d be done this weekend.”
Embarrassed at her lack of progress, Melody continued to block the entrance. “Since when do you get out of bed before noon on a Saturday?”
“It was an emergency. My motherboard blew up right in the middle of a Web site redesign.” Bass looked over his shoulder to survey the empty hallway. “So what brings Bridezilla and her merry minions to your humble abode?”
“Stephanie’s apartment is being painted and my mother—the etiquette Nazi—claims the Rush name will be dead in New York if we don’t mail the invitations Monday. So you stand at the gateway to wedding hell.”
“What about one of the other bridesmaids? Don’t they have apartments?”
“I’m the maid of honor.” She hung her head in mock sorrow. “It’s my cross to bear.”
“Well, this won’t take long.” He tried to look past her into the loft. “Show me the sketches and I’ll be out of here before they arrive.”
“Actually…” She grabbed his arm, pulled him into the room and slammed the door behind him. “Now that you’re here, you should stick around and keep me sane. In a few minutes this place will be filled to the rafters with fancy stationery and ribbons.”
Bass stumbled backward into the closed door. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather get a root canal from my blind uncle Harry.”
Before Melody could respond, the doorbell rang again. “Too late. They’re here and you can’t escape.”
“No way, you couldn’t pay me—”
Melody opened the door and Bass lost the ability to speak. Two statuesque models preceded Stephanie into the apartment. He promptly flopped onto the sofa and crossed his ankles on the black trunk used as a coffee table.
“Where should I put these?” Stephanie huffed as she held out two large shopping bags filled with boxes.
“Over there.” Mel pointed to the large wooden craft table that doubled as her dining table. The varnish was long gone and it was stained, paint-splattered and grooved, but she loved it more with each new flaw.
Melody was about to shut the door when she heard the elevator yawn open at the end of the hall. Out of habit, she stuck her head out to see who’d gotten off. Her breath caught. It took all her strength not to jump back into her apartment and slam the door.
Swallowing, Melody wiggled her fingers in a halfhearted wave and turned to her sister with gritted teeth. “You did not tell me Mother was coming to this thing.”
Her sister at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I didn’t? I thought you knew she was bringing Vicky.”
Dutifully, Melody waited by the door to greet her mother who flung her arms wide and brushed right past her. “There’s the bride,” she cried as she flitted across the room to envelop Stephanie.
Mel’s gaze connected with her youngest sister Vicky’s. They both rolled their eyes and shared a private smile. Reaching out, Melody wrapped an arm around her sister’s neck and tugged her into a tight hug.
At seventeen, Vicky was turning into a real beauty. She’d recently decided that she wanted to grow her hair to her waist like Melody’s. It currently hung just past her shoulders, and Mel was certain her baby sister would tire of the idea before it could get as far as her back.
Vicky was heavily influenced by both of her older sisters—a bit of a tomboy like Mel, with a knack for shopping like Stephanie. And, of course, she carried the full weight of their mother’s expectations on her shoulders.
All Rush women had been groomed to be role models in the African-American community. Beverly Rush presided over any and every minority-related organization or charity in the tri-state area. For her, image was everything, and today was no exception. She was the picture of elegance in her pearl-gray pantsuit, which perfectly complemented the silvery strands in her stylish bob.
Later, as the girls were all perched around Mel’s big art table addressing envelopes by hand because her sister insisted on the “personal” touch, Melody knew this was one area in which she excelled.
Having paid her dues hand-lettering comic books, Mel was confident her penmanship was beyond reproach. She addressed her first envelope in calligraphy, underscoring the last line with an elegant flourish. “How’s that, Stephanie?”
“Oh, Melody, that’s fabulous. If we didn’t have nearly five hundred to do, I’d ask you to do all the invitations. Doesn’t that look great, Mother?”
Melody winced instinctively, but couldn’t resist sliding her gaze in her mother’s direction. Beverly Rush got up and circled the table to stand behind her—Mel presumed to study the envelope up close.
Instead, Beverly grabbed a handful of Melody’s ponytail and wrapped it around her hand. “You are going to cut this for the wedding, aren’t you? It would take Francisco hours to force all that hair into a bun. You don’t want to take time away from the bride on her wedding day.”
Vicky gasped and Stephanie shouted, “Mother, stop it! I’d rather die than ask Mel to cut her hair for my wedding.”
Her mother released Melody’s hair and returned to her seat. “Well, Francisco is a genius. I’m sure he’ll think of something.”
Melody gripped the edge of the table. Two more months. She only had to endure this for two more months.
Bass came from the kitchen with the hors d’oeuvres she’d prepared. He passed finger sandwiches like a white-gloved waiter instead of a Web designer wearing black fingernail polish. He lingered beside Lana, the Nordic blonde, who took two sandwiches, much to everyone’s surprise.
Melody suspected that Lana had a crush on Bass despite the disapproval of the other model, Jessica. Earlier she’d heard Lana remark to Jess that Bass resembled rocker Dave Navarro.
Beverly picked up a sandwich and sniffed it. Sensing the forthcoming snide remark, Melody cried out, “Don’t eat them, Mother. They’re loaded with carbs.”
Both models dropped the sandwiches like poison. “They’re not low-carb?”
As Will guided Melody into the Franklin Hotel, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Melody Rush was proving to be anything but predictable. Part of him had thought she would show up in army boots and a black shroud. Instead, she came to class in a brown broomstick skirt, black silk peasant blouse and slinky gold sandals. Her long tresses had been braided into three sections and then wrapped into a knot on top of her head.
She didn’t exactly blend in, but a sore thumb she wasn’t. It wasn’t her attire, but her mood that was most surprising. In the short time he’d known her, he’d never seen Melody so quiet. This entire evening had probably been a mistake. What had he been thinking bringing Melody so far out of her element?
“Are you okay?” he asked as they rode the elevator down to the ballroom. “You’ve been quiet ever since we got into the cab. If you’re not up for this, we can—”
“No, I’m fine. I’m sure this will be fine.”
But, to Will, she looked anything but fine.
They entered the ballroom where it was already starting to get crowded. Several couples glided around the room as the live band played a waltz.
Fearing that Melody would panic and bolt, Will kept his hand firmly on her back. The trouble was, the feel of her back, warm to his touch through the thin silk of her top had him wishing they were in a room that wasn’t quite so public.
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Robyn Amos
He loved a challengeYou didn't go from being a poor kid in the hood to making millions on Wall Street unless you had a man-size desire to succeed. Will Coleman had all that–and good looks and a head-turning, hard-muscled body to match. So what if he taught ballroom dancing in his spare time? Will was all man. And all he needed was the perfect woman….She danced to the beat of a different drumThen Melody Rush, a bodacious beauty with long, wavy hair down to her curvy behind–and an equally feisty attitude–walked into his dance studio. And suddenly Will was left wondering if she might be the one.
Enchanting Melody
Robyn Amos
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
I would like to thank my critique partners, Judy Fitzwater, Pat Gagne, Ann Kline and Karen Smith, who have been by my side since the very beginning. Special thanks to my silent critique partner and husband, John Pope. I’d also like to thank my pre-wedding dance instructors, Clifford Kopf, Anne Arundel Community College, and Deborah Joy Malkin, First Dance Impressions.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Melody Rush tossed her waist-length ponytail over her shoulder as she squinted at the drawing board.
“That’s not quite what I’m looking for, Bass,” she told her friend, a hulking goth with bloodred streaks in his black hair. “Can you arch your back a little more?”
“If I arch it any more, I’m going to fall on my head. I’m defying gravity as it is,” he moaned. Arms outstretched, head thrown back, Bass struggled to contort his spine as though reeling from a powerful blow.
Melody tried to sketch faster, realizing she was wearing out her model—which is why she didn’t typically rely on them to develop her comic-book characters. “I’m sorry, dude, but this was your idea, remember?”
For years, Bass had been begging to be the inspiration for a character in one of her graphic novels. Finally, Delilah, her flashy African-American heroine—supermodel by day, electrically-charged crime fighter by night—had beaten up all the local villains and was in need of a fresh archenemy.
“I remember,” he paused to groan. “But, I thought I’d at least get in a few good licks. So far, in all these poses Delilah is kicking my—”
“Bass, I’ve already told you, the Ambassador’s power is primarily cerebral. After this colossal butt-kicking he concocts a mind-control spell to take over the world.”
“Yeah, whatever. Can’t I hit her just once?”
Melody shot him a look, pointedly ignoring the question. “Okay, you can relax. I think I’ve got what I need.” Her pencil flew over the sketch pad in rapid strokes that finally ended in a flourish.
The chains looped through his wide-leg jeans rattled as he straightened. “You ever notice that Delilah’s enemies are always men?” he asked, cracking his neck. “If you’re not careful, your fans will start to think you’re a man-hater.”
“Hah, I’m far from a man-hater,” she said, waving him off.
“I don’t know, you’re much nicer now that we’re not dating. But, I still think you’re using Delilah to express your pent-up aggression toward men.” Bass was forced to take a hasty step back as Melody surged to her feet.
“I do not have pent-up aggression.” Sticking one hand on her hip, she waved the index finger of her other hand in the air. “First, I’ve always been nice—you just didn’t know how to stand up to me. Second, Delilah is not an extension of me. In fact, she’s my polar opposite.”
“Opposite?” Bass snorted. “Come on, she has the same brown skin tone as you, the same unbelievably long hair, and she’s tall and curvy, just like you.”
She answered the lascivious arching of his brow with a hard glare. “Physical similarities mean nothing. Delilah’s a girly-girl. I’m a tomboy. She wears Prada suits and Jimmy Choo shoes. I wear cargo pants and army boots. I’m sick of people trying to draw a connection between Delilah and me. She’s completely fabricated.”
Except, maybe, for her hair. It was Melody’s only true vanity. She’d given Delilah her trademark waist-length hair because she was so proud of it. Though she most often kept it in a braid or ponytail streaming down her back, she was meticulous when it came to grooming it.
“Fine, don’t blame me just because you’re bound by the dark chains of denial.”
She rolled her eyes, sitting back down at her desk. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”
He took a step toward her. “Never mind. Can I see how I turned out?”
“Not yet,” she said, covering the drawing. “I need to play with it a bit more.”
“Fine, but, for all my effort, you’ve got to give me something.” Bass, topping six feet with the build of a heavyweight wrestler, rubbed his hands together like an eager little boy. “How about giving the Ambassador X-ray vision? I’m dying to see what Delilah wears under that catsuit.”
Melody started to quip that he wouldn’t be able to handle it, but was interrupted by the telephone. She crossed the room and glanced at the caller ID—it was her sister.
As much as she loved her younger sibling, she wasn’t in the mood to discuss fabric samples or cake flavors for Stephanie’s upcoming wedding.
After the fourth ring, she answered the line. “What’s up, Steph?”
“Get ready to buzz me in, I’m a block away from your apartment, and I’ve got a present for you.”
Melody sighed, hanging up the phone. These days that could mean a lot of things, and none of them good.
“My sister’s on her way up here, Bass. You may want to hit the road.” Her sister and her best friend detested each other.
Bass rolled his eyes and grabbed his skate-board. “I’m outta here. Have fun drinking tea with the diva.”
The doorbell rang and Mel buzzed her sister through the security doors in the lobby. Moments later, Stephanie breezed into the apartment, filling it with expensive perfume. Casual only by design, she wore denim capri pants with a short denim jacket as a top. She’d completed her outfit with high-heeled sandals and pearls.
Stephanie Rush had retired from runway modeling to plan her New York wedding full-time. If it weren’t for the fact that they lived on opposite sides of the city, Melody would’ve had to tolerate these pop-ins once a day.
As it was, they came at least once a week—every time Stephanie changed her wedding theme, colors or guest list.
“Hey, girl.” Stephanie leaned in to kiss Melody on the cheek before sitting next to the large portfolio she’d propped against the couch. “I just passed Flounder in the lobby.”
“Bass.”
“Right, I knew it was a fish. How is it that a thirty-year-old man still rides a skateboard?”
“Don’t knock it.” Melody had learned to ignore her sister’s none-too-subtle digs at her friends. “Skateboards are fuel-efficient, environmentally-friendly and good exercise.”
“Whatever. Guess what? I have a surprise for you,” Stephanie said in a singsong voice.
Mel braced herself. “Okay?”
Stephanie reached into her Louis Vuitton bag and handed Melody a white envelope. Mel took it and pulled out what looked like a gift certificate.
“This coupon entitles you to six ballroom-dancing lessons from the Moonlight Dance Studio.”
Mel looked from her sister to the coupon then back to her sister. “What fresh hell is this?”
“Now hear me out, Mel. When you agreed to be maid of honor in my wedding you knew there would be certain expectations.”
Melody stuck her hand on her hip. “Yes, wearing an ugly dress, throwing you a couple of parties and buying you a ridiculously-expensive gift. Those are the duties I’ve agreed to fulfill.”
“A Keenan Okofi original is hardly ugly,” Stephanie said with a huff.
Mel rolled her eyes, knowing better than to insult the designs of her sister’s husband-to-be. He was swiftly becoming one of the hottest new names in fashion, or so Stephanie claimed.
“I’m sorry, but you know what I mean. I don’t see where dance lessons fit into this whole deal.”
“Mel, it’s a formal candlelight wedding with a twelve-piece orchestra. There will be a lot of dancing, including the bridal party dance.”
“I don’t need lessons to rock and sway around the floor a few times with Keenan’s sixteen-year-old brother.”
“I’ll have you know that Samir goes to boarding school in London where ballroom dance is a part of the daily curriculum.”
“Poor kid,” she scoffed.
“Mel, there will be a lot of important people there. Don’t you want to make a good impression?”
Melody felt an icy tingle of suspicion at those words. They were all too familiar. “Did Mother put you up to this?”
Stephanie winced, dropping her gaze to the floor.
There wasn’t any use in denying it, Melody thought. Their mother had never given up trying to mold her eldest daughter into the perfect image of African-American high society—no matter how futile the effort.
Stephanie reached out to squeeze Melody’s arm. “Okay, she might have made the suggestion, but you know I never would have gone along with it if it hadn’t been a good one. Our wedding guests aren’t just important to me, but to Keenan’s career as well. Some of them may ask you to dance, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“Oh, this is about my comfort? Because if it is…” She pointed to her red Converse All-Stars.
“Melody, please. It’s just five lessons. They’ll teach you three different styles of dance. Just enough to get you through the wedding reception. Say you’ll do it…please, please, please?”
Melody sighed. She was the black sheep in her family of New York socialites—and she was proud of it. Left to her own devices, she would have loved to send a message to her mother: her eclectic lifestyle wasn’t a phase, her friends weren’t going to morph into well-placed celebrities, and she was never going to marry rich.
But, for a change, this wasn’t between just Melody and her mother. She was close to her sisters—both Stephanie and their youngest sibling, Vicky. And she’d already promised to do whatever chores were necessary to make Stephanie’s dream wedding a success. Apparently that included clopping around the dance floor like a horse in ballet slippers.
“You’re lucky I love you, Steph, because I wouldn’t risk this kind of humiliation for just anyone.”
“Thank you, big sis,” Stephanie screeched, crushing her in a tight hug. “Now wait until you see Keenan’s latest designs for the bridesmaids’ dresses. I’ve changed my mind about the black-and-white ball gowns. We’re thinking of going with these authentic African robes in red and gold….”
Will Coleman glanced at his watch. It was time to start class and there was still one student on the roster who hadn’t arrived. Someone always bailed at the last minute.
Rubbing his hands together, he moved to the center of the studio floor. “Good evening, everyone. This is Beginners Ballroom Dance, and I’m your instructor, Will. In this class you’ll learn the fox-trot, swing and waltz. Are you ready to get started?”
The class mumbled a faint response. “Okay, I’d like everyone to line up across from their partners. Followers on the right, leaders on the left.”
Will turned around to close the curtain that sectioned off the large dance floor, and a movement in the doorway caught his eye. A young woman was trying to sneak away.
“Excuse me for one second,” he said to the class and walked over to poke his head into the hallway.
“Miss? Miss, are you looking for Beginners Ballroom Dance?”
The woman turned slowly, clearly embarrassed. For a second Will thought he might have made a mistake. This woman didn’t look anything like his typical dance students.
She was dressed in tan cargo pants, low black boots and a scanty black tank top that revealed a tattoo of a Chinese character on the small of her back.
“Um, I didn’t realize I needed a partner, so…” She shrugged and took a step backward, clutching the end of her long braid in her fist.
He motioned her forward. “You don’t need a partner. Come on in.”
She hovered in place, clearly unsure what to do. Will reached out and took her by the wrist, gently pulling her into the room. She came willingly at first, but began to resist when she saw the lineup of the class.
“Everyone’s paired up already,” she whispered to him.
Will smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Don’t worry about that. We do a lot of rotating, but you can start out as my partner.”
A look of pure horror contorted her face, and he laughed out loud. “Trust me,” he said, leading her over to where the other ladies were already lined up. “This will be completely painless.”
Will was intrigued with his new student, but all eyes were on him, waiting patiently for instruction, so he couldn’t indulge his fascination with her.
“Today we’re going to learn the fox-trot. This is one of the most common patterns associated with ballroom dancing. It’s the one that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers made famous. The rhythm for the fox-trot is slow, slow, side step. Slow, slow, side step.”
He demonstrated the steps first for the men and then for the women. “Okay, now has everyone got that?”
Across the room, he could already see that his pretty new student was having trouble. She was struggling to shift her weight and not trip on the side step.
“Let me emphasize for the ladies that you’ll be stepping back with your right foot. So it’s right, left, side step. Good, now let’s partner up and give it a try.”
He motioned for his reluctant partner to join him in the center of the room. “What’s your name?”
“Mel…uh, short for Melody,” she answered softly.
“Okay, class, Melody is going to help me demonstrate proper frame. Square up with your partner like this.” Will explained the basics of frames and maintaining proper resistance between partners.
Normally, he could recite this spiel in his sleep, but today he was struggling to concentrate. There were too many variables splitting his attention. First, he had to keep his eye on the rest of the class to be sure they were keeping up. Next, he had to help his timid partner who was fighting him every step of the way. And finally, he was trying to keep his hands from sliding off her tiny top to her bare skin.
“Not so much resistance, Melody,” he said to her, then louder to the class, “Followers should be pushing against the leader’s shoulder lightly. Keep in mind we’re dancing, not wrestling.”
Melody wrinkled her nose. “Why do you keep calling us followers?”
At this proximity, Will was tempted to whisper his answer directly into her ear. Instead, he forced himself to remain in instructor mode. “Did you hear that, class? Melody would like to know why I keep referring to the ladies as followers. Anyone want to answer that question?”
A stocky young man with swarthy Italian features piped up, “Because the men are always in charge.” A few of the women in the class groaned.
“That’s right, on the dance floor, the men are always the leaders. It’s the woman’s job to receive signals from the man and follow through. Now let’s try the step together.”
Will continued to try and lead the class while dancing with Melody, but it was becoming obvious that she wasn’t picking up the movements as quickly as the rest of the class. “Whoa, Melody, you don’t move until I move.”
She released an exasperated breath. “Then why bother teaching me the step at all if I’m not allowed to do it? I can be your little puppet, and you can move my legs for me.”
Startled by her outburst, Will reminded himself that first-time dancers became frustrated easily. He tried to soothe her by speaking softly. “Learning to follow isn’t easy. It’s a skill, just like leading. You’ll pick it up eventually.”
A rumble of voices caught Will’s attention, and he realized that he’d gotten so caught up in helping Melody that he’d neglected the rest of the class. He’d failed to stagger the couples at the start of the lesson, and now they’d danced themselves into a crowded jumble in one corner of the room.
“I’m sorry, class, this is my fault. Let me have three couples on the right side of the room and four on the left.” Will left Melody to practice a few steps on her own as he made his rounds to the other couples. Then he led Melody to the center of the room once again.
“How are you doing? Think you’ve got it now?” He pulled her into position before she could respond. “Good, now let’s try the patterns all together. Slow, slow, side step…slow, slow—don’t step back so far, Melody, you’re going to—”
Will tried to catch her, but it was too late. Melody’s rubber-soled boots stopped short, but her body kept going and she slipped through his grasp. With a pathetic thud, she landed on her backside at his feet.
“Thank you, class. That will be all for today.”
Chapter 2
The dance instructor offered a hand to help Melody to her feet, but she pushed him away and dragged herself up. “I’ve got it.”
She spun around, making a beeline for the exit. Stephanie had wasted her money. Walking on hot coals carrying an anvil was time well spent compared to this.
“Hold on! Melody, wait.” Will caught up with her and halted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? Did you injure yourself?”
When she didn’t immediately turn, he held her shoulder firmly and spun her around. The bold, masculine move surprised her, and his touch shot through her like an electrical jolt. Heat rushed to her cheeks so quickly, they tingled. Melody jerked out of his grasp, annoyed at Will for having the nerve to reduce her to mush—and at herself for complying.
This wasn’t right. She didn’t get all gooey inside every time an attractive man looked her way. On the contrary, she was the one to turn men into jiggling mounds of jelly. They found her intimidating—as well they should.
She lifted her chin. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Please accept my apology. That spill you just took was entirely my fault.”
“Damn, you’re smooth,” she whispered.
“What?”
Dear Lord, had she really just said that out loud? Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse…“I mean, how could my clumsiness be your fault? It’s obvious that I don’t belong here.”
“Nonsense, it’s my job to maintain the frame. I got distracted and let it go slack. That’s why you fell.”
Melody opened and closed her mouth. Was this guy for real? Nobody had that much class.
She’d grown up surrounded by the wealthy upper crust, and they were some of the most entitled, unapologetic types she’d known. But this guy was nothing like them—despite the fact that everything about him screamed money, from his diamond-studded watch to his designer slacks and silk crew-neck shirt.
Maybe he hadn’t been born wealthy. That would explain it. On his hands, as well-manicured as they were, she’d felt a few masculine ridges that hinted at physical labor.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t her type at all. Way too clean-cut. She was so over neatly-cropped hair and a clean shave. But when he smiled, his straight white teeth made a striking contrast against his deep brown skin. And his chocolate-brown eyes were filled with kindness. Her heart jumped in her chest.
This was getting too weird. Time to cut and run. “Look, this isn’t working out, so I’m not going to waste any more of your time or mine.”
His brow wrinkled. “Don’t tell me you’re not coming back.”
She scoffed. “Oh, I’m telling you before you tell me.”
“You can’t give up. You just need to relax a little.”
Mel rolled her eyes. “No, I was awful.”
“It’s only natural that you’d feel tense standing before the entire class. Believe me, you’d do much better with no one watching. Come here.” Will held out his hand.
“Now?”
“Of course. I don’t have any more classes this evening. I want you to see that you can learn to dance.” He flicked the switch on the stereo remote, turning on the music. “Come here.”
Reluctantly, Melody moved into his arms. He was right, it was a lot different without anyone watching…but not in the way that he’d meant.
Suddenly she noticed the intoxicating scent of his cologne. She saw his biceps bulging underneath his shirt. And she was very aware of the proximity of their bodies.
She was so overwhelmed by all these new sensations that she forgot her anxiety over dancing. Mel let herself be swept across the floor in his arms.
“That’s it. See what a difference it makes when you relax and trust your partner?”
Melody looked down and lost her footing, throwing them out of sync. She swore under her breath.
“It’s okay, we’ll pick it back up. Slow, slow, side step. Just follow me.”
Melody tried to repeat the rhythm over and over in her head so as not to embarrass herself again. “I think I’m getting it.”
“That’s right. All you have to do is trust me. You don’t even have to know the moves ahead of time. Watch.” Will broke their frame and twirled her in a circle and turned her at an angle in several more complicated patterns.
Melody glided right along with him, wide-eyed that she was actually dancing. “I don’t believe I did all that,” she said when he resumed the basic pattern.
“Well, you did.” He stopped. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She felt her skin flushing. She felt like a high-school girl. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this much like a girl of any sort. “It was okay,” she said, trying to hide her giddiness.
“And next week will be even better. Promise me you’ll come back?”
Melody looked up into those deep brown eyes and found herself saying the opposite of what she’d planned. “I promise.”
Will regulated his breathing as he increased his pace on the treadmill. He felt his body kick into the zone as sweat began to bead on his forehead.
“Would you be interested in joining the activity-planning committee?” A petite woman wearing a hot-pink sports bra and designer shorts stepped in front of his treadmill.
Will tried to hide his frustration as he slowed his pace. “Excuse me?” he asked, panting.
The woman leaned forward, propping one arm on the electronic panel, inadvertently skewing his workout settings. “I know you’re fairly new to Parkview Heights, and the best way to get to know your neighbors is to join the planning committee. I’m the chair, Abby Rutherford.” She held out her hand.
Will was forced to stop the treadmill and step off. After first wiping his palm on his shorts, he reluctantly shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Abby. I’m Will.”
Bending over, hands on his knees, Will stared at the floor, trying to appear as though he were catching his breath. In reality he was reining in his temper.
“We meet the first Thursday of every month to plan the following month’s events. Can I sign you up for our next meeting in two weeks?”
Will started to answer but was interrupted when another woman sidled up beside Abby and gave her a one-armed hug. In her other arm, the woman carried a Chihuahua in a purple sweat-band and Spandex tank that matched her own. They exchanged greetings and parted with air kisses.
“Don’t forget The Apprentice viewing party in the club floor lounge next Monday,” Abby tossed over her shoulder as the woman headed for the juice bar.
“Sorry about that,” Abby said to Will. “As you can see, committee events are a big hit, and you’ll get to meet all your neighbors.” Her smile turned from friendly to flirtatious.
“Abby, I’d love to join your committee, but I’m afraid my work schedule is really hectic for the next few weeks.”
Will had only been a resident of the luxury apartment complex for three weeks, so he was interested in meeting new people, but not in the middle of a workout.
He’d been varying his exercise routine in the penthouse health club hoping to avoid his chatty neighbors. It was quickly becoming apparent that Parkview residents didn’t come to the gym to work out, they came to be seen.
On his first visit, he’d felt strangely under-dressed for the gym. He’d shown up in faded sweats and a paint-splattered T-shirt, while everyone else wore color-coordinated designer labels. He’d barely noticed anyone breaking a sweat. His own workout had progressed slowly because all the machines were tied up with men and women carrying on leisurely conversations while they kept up the vague appearance of exercising.
Cutting his losses, Will rode the elevator back down to his apartment. The thought of buying his own exercise equipment flashed in his mind for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time he dismissed it.
Despite his hard-won status as one of New York’s more successful stockbrokers, the lifestyle was still too new for him to abandon his working-class values. He just couldn’t waste money on expensive workout machines when his exorbitant rent covered a fully-equipped gym just three floors up. And since he belonged to a rare group of individuals who actually took full advantage of the state-of-the-art machines, the equipment was in excellent condition.
Will dragged his towel across the back of his neck as he entered his apartment. Getting accepted by the Parkview Housing Committee had been an arduous seven-week process involving background checks, prying interviews and several reference letters from well-placed individuals. Now that he was here, the hassle had been worth it. The exclusive residence represented a lifelong climb from Brooklyn factory work to Wall Street success.
Of course things were different here. Different from working two jobs to get by. Different from backbreaking manual labor, sleep-deprivation and night school. Different had been exactly what Will was looking for.
It was just going to take some getting used to, that’s all. But, in the meantime, he needed a dose of reality.
Will sat on the couch with his cordless phone and dialed his younger brother’s number. Tony answered right away.
“Will! Hey, man, what’s up? How’s Park Avenue life treating you? No wait, don’t tell me. I’m not in the mood to shoot myself.”
Tony always pretended that he wanted to switch places with Will, but he knew his brother better than that. Tony had always been quite content with the cards life had dealt him. Will had been the dissatisfied one.
By contrast, Tony had always worked at the plastics factory and had never pursued another career path. He’d started a family at eighteen and was happy with the small apartment he lived in with his wife and three sons. Will knew this because once he’d begun making money, he’d offered to move them into a big house, or upgrade their ten-year-old car, and all of these offers had been firmly refused. Christmases and birthdays were the only occasions Will was allowed to spend money on them, and even then, extravagant gifts were returned.
“Everything’s fine here.” Will heard cheering in the background. “What’s going on over there?”
“Oh, you know how we do. The boys are watching basketball. Frieda’s making hot wings.”
“I love Frieda’s wings,” Will said in an unmistakable plea for an invitation.
“Then come on over, man. You know you’re always welcome here.”
Will started to accept his brother’s offer, but Tony continued, “It’s funny, when you moved to the other side of the tracks, I was worried we wouldn’t see you much. But, you’ve been back in the ’hood almost every day. Basketball at the rec center, pizza night at Shucky’s Bar, you even showed up for dominoes at Little Harold’s two nights ago.”
Will laughed sheepishly. “What are you trying to say? Are you getting tired of me?”
“Nah, bro, nothing like that. I’m just wondering why you worked so hard to get out of the ’hood, just so you could come back and hang here every other night. What’s the matter? Park Avenue ain’t all it’s cracked up to be?”
“Of course it is,” Will answered quickly. “It’s great. Everything’s great. Really great.” Stop saying great, you idiot!
“Good. Don’t forget I’m an old married man. I have to live through you. You’re supposed to be dating some model chick and going to bougie parties where they serve snails and crap like that.”
“Yeah, yeah, all that’s on the agenda. I’ve just been…working a lot. I still teach dance two nights a week.”
“You can’t work all the time. What about dating? Meet any hot girls lately?”
“Hot girls?” A tattooed girl with combat boots and a waist-length braid flashed in his brain. “Oh yeah, they’re everywhere.”
“Ahhh, yeah! Talk to me.”
“Actually, that’s why I was calling. I wanted you and the kids to know you wouldn’t be seeing me as much in the next few weeks. Between work, the dance studio and my impending social life, my schedule’s starting to look pretty tight.”
“Glad to hear it, man. The boys will miss seeing you around, but we’d all rather you had a life. I was starting to wonder if you were afraid to live in that crystal palace you worked so hard to get into.”
Will felt heat wash down his neck as the truth of Tony’s words hit home. “Wow, you suddenly getting deep on me, bro?”
“Hey, I gotta make sure you’re all right. Park Avenue’s a different world. All your peeps are still in Brooklyn.”
“You have nothing to worry about. Everything is fine.”
“Cool. Then the only other explanation is that you still haven’t figured out how to work that talking stove of yours.”
Will laughed hard into the phone, then paused. “How did you know?”
“All right, man, jump in the car and get over here before Frieda’s wings get cold.”
Melody waited in the corner of the dance studio as other couples began to arrive. As the trendy men and women around her chatted amongst themselves or practiced last week’s lesson, Mel chided herself for coming back to class.
She didn’t fit in here. Normally, that was a good thing. But today Mel felt dopey for showing up to class fifteen minutes early. It was silly to have sweaty palms and a stomach doing somersaults. And she felt extra foolish for wearing her black pleated mini skirt to impress the teacher.
She glanced down at the chunky sports watch on her wrist as she eyed the door. Three minutes to go. Maybe she could still—
“Good evening, class.” Will Coleman walked into the room, eliminating all hope of a quick escape. “I’m glad to see some of you practicing.”
Melody swallowed hard, hating the sudden giddiness she felt at the sight of him. He wore tan slacks with a fitted knit shirt that showed off his muscular build. His leather belt matched his brown loafers perfectly. He looked neat. Conservative. Delicious.
She blinked. What was getting into her? Since when was conservative delicious?
Feeling a tiny bit self-conscious, Mel glanced at her mirrored image on the opposite wall. He’d told them to wear leather-soled shoes. The only pair she owned were her black studded cowboy boots. With those she wore opaque gray tights and her mini skirt with black-and-white suspenders hanging free at her waist. On top she wore a black baby-T sporting the word Brat in angry white letters. To complete the look, she’d positioned two ponytails at the back of her head and then bound them together with randomly-spaced rubber bands in a variety of colors.
This was as dressed-up as she got. So he’d damn well better appreciate it.
Will caught her eye and gave her a warm smile. Her knees went weak. And weakness made Melody bitter. She lifted her chin, finding composure in defiance.
“Okay, class, let’s line up. Followers on the right. Leaders on the left.”
Melody got in line. The numbers were still uneven. Will would have to be her partner again. Her heart began to race.
“Now that you all know the basic steps, I want you to get a feel for dancing with different partners. Start with the person directly across from you, and after a few minutes, we’ll rotate.”
Melody’s heart sank. She was anxious to show Will how much she’d improved. At least she’d get to dance with the teacher first, she thought as he approached her.
“Melody, do you mind practicing on your own for this round? I need to be mobile to monitor everyone’s progress,” he said quietly to her, and then more loudly, “Class, each follower will have to dance one round on their own. But don’t worry, we’ll keep rotating so everyone will have a partner most of the time.”
It was all Mel could do not to groan out loud. Why on earth had she come back? Trying not to embarrass herself, Melody dutifully ran through the steps on her own and was feeling pretty confident when it was time to rotate.
An older man with silver hair and a friendly smile walked up to her. He extended his hand. “Hi, my name is George.”
“I’m Mel, um, Melody.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Melody.” George took her into his arms. The music started and he glided with her around the floor with expertise.
“Are you sure you need lessons?” she asked her partner.
“This is more of a refresher course for me. My wife Gretchen is the one who really wants to learn.”
Melody was disappointed when it was time to rotate. It had been nice to dance with someone who knew what he was doing but didn’t stir up those pesky butterflies.
Her next partner, Scott, was a bit more of a challenge. Clearly nervous, he stayed two beats ahead of the music. Feeling good about her progress, Mel took the lead and Scott let her.
“You’re a great dancer,” the redhead said and his face flushed as he struggled not to meet her eyes.
“Thank you.”
Scott moved on quickly, catching sight of the reproachful looks his girlfriend was shooting from across the room.
Her next partner appeared before her, the stocky Italian she remembered from the previous week. “Hi, I’m Melody.”
“Joey,” he said curtly and jerked her into position.
His grip was tight and Melody constantly felt off balance. She tried pushing against him to get control of her footing.
Joey clamped her into a firmer grip and physically moved her across the floor.
“Dude, loosen up.” She pushed against him harder.
“Hey, stop trying to lead.”
“Fine, but you need to stop trying to bulldoze me.”
The two of them moved awkwardly across the floor, occasionally creating so much resistance in their frame that they looked like wrestlers battling for a title belt.
When Joey missed a beat, Mel would try to force him to catch up. “Quit leading,” Joey muttered.
“You’re off beat.”
“You’re supposed to follow me, no matter what.” He applied more force to their frame.
Feeling red-hot anger creeping up her spine, Melody applied some force of her own. “It would help if you were doing it right.”
They were so caught up in their power struggle that neither of them noticed that the music had stopped and the entire class was watching them.
Will walked over. “What’s the problem?”
“She won’t quit leading,” Joey piped up like the whiney tattletale he was.
Mel took a deep breath, trying not to show Will just how evil her temper could get. “I wasn’t trying to lead,” she bit out. “I was just trying to keep him from sweeping the floor with my heels.”
“She’s some kind of control freak.”
Melody whirled on Joey, but before she could even think of wrapping her fingers around the man’s neck, Will had pulled her into his arms. Lifting her arm over her head, he spun her back around in a graceful twirl.
“Okay, class, that’s enough rotating for today. Go back to your original partners. We’re going to learn some turns.”
Chapter 3
For the remainder of class, Will kept Melody at his side as he showed them how to add spins to the basic patterns they’d learned. Once again, as he was dismissing the students and giving them instructions on what to practice for next week, Melody tried to slip out.
“You’re trying to sneak off again?” Will called out before she reached the door.
She turned to face him, looking sheepish.
“I’m going to start taking it personally.”
She walked back over to him. “I just don’t think I have the right temperament for ballroom dancing. I’m not a let-a-guy-control-me type of girl.”
Will let his gaze travel over Melody. She’d struck a brazen pose, hip jutted out and arms crossed. Her catlike eyes, ringed with dark liner, dared him to contradict her. No, she wasn’t the passive type.
Speaking of types. She wasn’t his at all. Her fashion sense was a mix of goth and grunge instead of Gaultier and Gucci. Melody Rush was dark, defiant and every bit the brat her shirt proclaimed.
He took in the shapely legs stemming from her low black cowboy boots and the rippled abs peeking out of her baby-T. On the other hand, she was sexy and he was a man. It just didn’t go much deeper than that.
“Melody, you’ve got it all wrong. Just because the man leads doesn’t mean the woman is passive. It’s our job to make you look good. Like the pedestal under a Ming vase—the man bears the weight so the woman can be admired.”
“Yeah, that’s cute, but you can’t tell me after today that I’m cut out for this. Dancing with some of the guys was okay, but that last one—” Melody formed her hands into a choking gesture.
Will stifled a smirk. “It takes a while to adjust to new partners. The more confident you become in your own dancing ability, the easier it will be for you to adapt to a new partner’s style.”
“You make it sound so easy, but I’m not buying it. I’ve barely gotten used to this pattern, and now you’re talking about teaching swing next week? That’s the one where they throw you around like a rag doll, right?”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Will said, amused. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll give you a sneak peek at next week’s lesson. That way you can practice a few steps on your own.”
Suddenly Melody looked nervous. “No, I don’t want to waste your time. The studio’s closing. You probably want to get home.”
He took a step toward her, holding out his hand. “It’s no problem.”
She took a step back, and he paused. “Unless you’d rather not.” He liked the fact that he could rattle her. He could tell that was something that didn’t happen often.
She visibly swallowed and took his hand. “Hey, if you’re up for it, I am, too. I guess I need all the help I can get.”
Taking the stereo remote from his pocket, he hit the CD changer and a bouncy swing filled the room. “Okay, the basic swing pattern is relatively simple—one, two, rock step.”
He had to show her several times before the rock step began to sink in. “Loosen up. You’ve got to let yourself feel the connection. Try not to think so hard.”
Melody stumbled. “I don’t know about this. Swing seems so corny.”
“Corny? The swing? No way. It’s the most versatile dance of them all. I bet you didn’t know that you can swing to hip-hop music.” He pulled the remote from his pocket and the CD switched to a pounding beat. Will continued to lead her through the basic pattern.
Melody wrinkled her nose. “Hip-hop isn’t exactly my thing.”
He twirled her around then spun her around his back. “Oh that’s right, goth girls are more into metal, right?”
“I’m not much for labels, but yeah, I like rock, punk, alternative…”
“Hmm, I’ve never tried to swing to punk music before. Maybe if you bring some in, we could try it out.”
She regarded him with a wary eye. “Maybe.”
“There you go.” He led her around the room. “You’re getting the hang of it now.”
He watched Melody trying to fight back her grin. “It’s all right, I guess,” she said.
Feeling her confidence growing, Will led her into more complicated steps. Melody followed along like a pro.
“I have to know, what made you want to take ballroom-dancing lessons?” he asked, pulling her close.
Melody scoffed. “Do I look like someone who would want ballroom-dancing lessons? No, I’m the maid of honor in my sister’s circus—I mean wedding. I think she only gave me the title in order to inflict girly tortures upon me—ballroom dancing, pointy-toed shoes, hot rollers…”
The image of Melody in pink taffeta and ruffles scowling at her sister from the front of a church sent a rush of laughter up from his diaphragm. He missed a beat, throwing them off for a second. “Come on, it isn’t that bad, is it?”
“Oh, it’s going to be bad. My family gets one favor and this is it. I only have to be presentable for a few hours,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
Will laughed. “Well, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure you’re the belle of the ball.”
Right on queue, Melody faltered. “I’ll settle for not falling on my butt.”
“No problem.” He lowered her into a steep dip so that she was barely skimming the floor, then he whisked her up into a graceful turn.
His hands slid inside her T-shirt onto the smooth skin of her back. The song on the stereo had moved on to a pulsing erotic beat. For a brief second their eyes locked.
Melody immediately looked away. “So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” she asked when she’d regained her breath.
Will exhaled slowly, taking hold of her hands for less intimate contact.
“I’m a stockbroker. I teach dance part-time. It was one of many odd jobs I used to do, and I still love it.”
“I figured it was a side job. Most people can’t buy designer shoes and diamond watches on a teaching salary.”
“I teach to stay sane. The stock market can be stressful. Dancing relaxes me.”
“Dancing has the opposite effect on me, but I guess that stands to reason since I have two left feet.”
“Nonsense, you’re doing well.” He took her through another pattern. “See that? You’ve just learned two weeks worth of steps in fifteen minutes. Next week, you’ll be way ahead of the class.”
“Great, now I’ve probably forgotten everything I learned from the last two weeks.”
“Not a chance. I’ll show you.” Will changed the music to a romantic melody by Frank Sinatra. He took her into his arms and the two of them immediately fell into fox-trot step.
Will had danced with many women. Old, young, the talented, the uncoordinated and some of the most beautiful, graceful dancers in New York. But there was something he just loved about dancing with Melody.
Dancing with her awakened primitive responses in him he’d never felt before. She would hate to know it but because she was so resistant to being controlled, making her body bend to his will gave him a rush of power.
She had the body of a ballerina, and all the grace of an elephant. But, he was skilled enough to compensate for that. He turned her this way and that, watching her hips and arms move in perfect concert with his. He didn’t want to take his hands off of her.
Will thought she’d been enjoying it, too, until she suddenly jerked out of his arms and pushed him away. She’d moved so quickly he stumbled back a few steps before catching himself.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I think I’ve got it now.”
Will stared at her, still stunned by her sudden retreat. “Um, okay…”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that it’s getting late. I think I should go.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“I mean, thank you—for this. I think it really helped.”
She was chattering a mile a minute. And the truth began to sink into Will’s head. She didn’t know how to handle the attraction between them. He had two choices. He could be professional: slow down, put her at ease and make her feel safe, or…
“I understand. All of this can get overwhelming. Maybe it would help you to get out onto a real dance floor. The Franklin Hotel has cocktails and dancing every Monday night. I could take you after class next week. You’ll have the chance to practice in a less structured environment.”
From the look of pure dread in her eyes, Will was certain Melody would turn him down.
“Next week?” Her voice squeaked slightly.
“Yes.”
Her brow furrowed. “After class?”
“Yes.”
“Just the two of us?”
Will nodded. “That’s right.”
He watched her swallow.
“Okay.”
Melody breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the familiar territory of Alchemy that night—on Mondays it was goth night. There was something so comforting about the red neon skull glowing in the window after an evening in that highbrow dance studio.
Stage lights washed the normally stark walls in a hazy red, and a blue spotlight swirled around the three-man band raging on the tiny stage. Off to one side of the cramped room akin to someone’s basement apartment, she found her friends at a table far from the stage.
“There she is. Finished with ballet class?” Bass called to her.
Mel rolled her eyes. “It’s not ballet—it’s ballroom dancing. And it figures you wouldn’t know the difference.” She pulled up a chair.
“Ballet or ballroom…either way, I’ve just got to see this. Aren’t you going to show us what you’ve learned?” asked her friend, Roland.
People at Alchemy didn’t dance so much as let the music vibrate through them into pulsating—almost convulsive—rocking motions.
“Only if you’re my partner. Do you think you’re up for it, Roland?” Mel challenged.
Roland, with his pale skin and thick, black-framed glasses could easily be mistaken for a college professor. He wore slim black pants, and a black V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt. In fact, he’d look better suited for a library than Alchemy if it weren’t for the spiky black hair that jutted in sharp angles from the top of his head…and the red lipstick.
Roland glanced at his girlfriend Samantha, whom they all affectionately referred to as Tha. “How about it, Tha? Do you dare me?”
Tha was a bleached blonde with three inches of black roots. She wore lip and eyebrow piercings and heavy metallic-green eye shadow. She just shrugged without looking up from her beer. “Mel’s going to make you look like a dork. But, if you’re cool with that, then I’m cool with it.”
Roland got up and moved into an empty space at the back of the bar. Mel shook her head as she followed him. Punk music blared from the speakers above her head. Counting quickly, she abandoned any thoughts of a fox-trot.
“Normally, the man leads. But, between the two of us, I think I qualify the most.” She took Roland’s hands and showed him the pattern Will had taught her earlier that evening. “One, two, rock step. Got it?”
Roland looked baffled.
The beat of the music was frantic, but they eventually managed to fall into a crazed, but steady rhythm. They were doing well enough that Bass and Tha soon joined them, frantically trying to imitate their movements. After several minutes, other people in the club got up to join them.
The band, energized by the dancing crowd, played two extra songs before ending their set for a break. Mel and her friends returned to their table out of breath.
“I can’t wait to tell Will you really can swing dance to punk music,” Mel said to herself.
Just then, a man Melody had never seen before set a beer down in front of her. “You looked like you could use a drink,” he said with a flirtatious smile.
Melody looked from the drink to the guy, then back at the drink.
“What’s the matter, don’t you drink?” he asked.
Mel picked up the glass and passed it back to him. “I don’t drink anything you bring me.”
The guy stood staring blankly for a moment before finally wandering off.
Samantha shook her head at her. “You never cease to amaze me. Everywhere we go, men fall all over themselves trying to impress you. You always shoot them down without batting an eyelash.”
Melody shrugged. “I didn’t ask him for the drink. He volunteered for bartending duty.”
“One of these days you’re going to run into a guy who’s not scared of you.”
Mel shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. “It’ll never happen,” she said, more confidently than she felt.
Deep down, she knew she may have already met that man.
Chapter 4
“Funny, but you don’t strike me as the wall-flower type.”
Will snapped out of his reverie to find himself the target of an unabashed feminine once-over. Standing only five foot five in her glittering three-inch pink pumps, his appraiser craned her neck to take in his full length.
Parkview’s club floor lounge was teeming with trendy singles that Friday night, but all Will could think about was the Knicks game he was missing. His new wide-screen TV had been delivered earlier that week. At that moment, he should have been watching the Knicks clobber the Bulls in high definition.
Abby, the planning-committee chair—hoppedup on a latte—had cornered him at the gym again this morning. She wouldn’t let him get back to the stair-climber until he’d agreed to attend the mixer.
“Wallflower.” The word tasted flat in his mouth. “Is that what I am?” he asked the beautiful young woman.
“You’ve been nursing that same drink since you got here, and you’re holding up this wall as though the roof were caving in. So, yes, you’re behaving like a wallflower.” She sipped from the flared lip of her Cosmopolitan glass. “Is that really how you planned to spend this evening?” she asked with a sidelong glance.
He’d planned to spend the evening with the Knicks, but it was too late for that now. In that instant, Will made up his mind to make the best of the situation. His brother had been right—he needed to start living the lifestyle he’d worked so hard to afford.
He followed his new friend to the bar where he discovered her name was Valencia. As he bought her Cosmopolitans, she regaled him with her escapades as an interior designer for several big-name celebrities. He listened, smiled, flirted mildly and even took her number when she offered it.
As Will rode the elevator down to his apartment, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
He tried to brush the feeling away as he entered his apartment. Valencia was just what he needed right when he needed it—a professional woman who shared his tastes and desires. She was beautiful and petite with smooth dark skin and a trendy haircut. Just his type.
So why did he feel so…disinterested?
Dropping Valencia’s card on the coffee table, Will grabbed his remote. There was still time to catch the end of the game. He stared blindly at the screen until his gaze drifted back to the phone number scrawled across the top of the card. On some strange level he felt as though he should have been with Melody.
But that was ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything wrong. They weren’t even dating. Yet, his mind finished silently.
Did taking her out for an extended dance lesson qualify as a date?
Will wasn’t sure, but it surprised him how much he was looking forward to finding out.
Melody threw down her pencil in frustration and pushed away from her art board. She was supposed to be finishing the panels that introduced the Ambassador story line. Instead she kept absently sketching the angles in Will Coleman’s face.
His face was handsome in all the conventional ways, but that wasn’t what stirred her artist’s fascination. It was the war going on behind his eyes.
He had the makings of a comic-book hero—boy-next-door good looks with a little something extra. The hint of a secret identity, maybe? With her pencil, she darkened his brow into a brooding look. The eyes always showed the strain of a double life.
Snatching the sketches of Will from her drawing board, she shoved them into a drawer. She was projecting qualities on to him that didn’t exist. Will wasn’t a superhero—no matter how perfect she made him out to be.
And she didn’t have time to waste inventing new comic-book characters. She’d gotten up early that morning to get some work done before her house became overrun with wedding paraphernalia. Stephanie had begged her to let them use her apartment to address wedding invitations.
Melody had just started to get a rough outline of the Ambassador’s first panel when she heard the doorbell ring.
Her heartbeat sped up as she crossed the room to get the door. “Bass,” she said, feeling both relief and disappointment. “What are you doing here? My sister will be here any minute with her bridesmaids.”
Bass leaned against the doorjamb, clutching his skateboard and a bag from CompuCity. “And good morning to you, too. I stopped by to check out the first draft of the Ambassador sketches. You said they’d be done this weekend.”
Embarrassed at her lack of progress, Melody continued to block the entrance. “Since when do you get out of bed before noon on a Saturday?”
“It was an emergency. My motherboard blew up right in the middle of a Web site redesign.” Bass looked over his shoulder to survey the empty hallway. “So what brings Bridezilla and her merry minions to your humble abode?”
“Stephanie’s apartment is being painted and my mother—the etiquette Nazi—claims the Rush name will be dead in New York if we don’t mail the invitations Monday. So you stand at the gateway to wedding hell.”
“What about one of the other bridesmaids? Don’t they have apartments?”
“I’m the maid of honor.” She hung her head in mock sorrow. “It’s my cross to bear.”
“Well, this won’t take long.” He tried to look past her into the loft. “Show me the sketches and I’ll be out of here before they arrive.”
“Actually…” She grabbed his arm, pulled him into the room and slammed the door behind him. “Now that you’re here, you should stick around and keep me sane. In a few minutes this place will be filled to the rafters with fancy stationery and ribbons.”
Bass stumbled backward into the closed door. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather get a root canal from my blind uncle Harry.”
Before Melody could respond, the doorbell rang again. “Too late. They’re here and you can’t escape.”
“No way, you couldn’t pay me—”
Melody opened the door and Bass lost the ability to speak. Two statuesque models preceded Stephanie into the apartment. He promptly flopped onto the sofa and crossed his ankles on the black trunk used as a coffee table.
“Where should I put these?” Stephanie huffed as she held out two large shopping bags filled with boxes.
“Over there.” Mel pointed to the large wooden craft table that doubled as her dining table. The varnish was long gone and it was stained, paint-splattered and grooved, but she loved it more with each new flaw.
Melody was about to shut the door when she heard the elevator yawn open at the end of the hall. Out of habit, she stuck her head out to see who’d gotten off. Her breath caught. It took all her strength not to jump back into her apartment and slam the door.
Swallowing, Melody wiggled her fingers in a halfhearted wave and turned to her sister with gritted teeth. “You did not tell me Mother was coming to this thing.”
Her sister at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I didn’t? I thought you knew she was bringing Vicky.”
Dutifully, Melody waited by the door to greet her mother who flung her arms wide and brushed right past her. “There’s the bride,” she cried as she flitted across the room to envelop Stephanie.
Mel’s gaze connected with her youngest sister Vicky’s. They both rolled their eyes and shared a private smile. Reaching out, Melody wrapped an arm around her sister’s neck and tugged her into a tight hug.
At seventeen, Vicky was turning into a real beauty. She’d recently decided that she wanted to grow her hair to her waist like Melody’s. It currently hung just past her shoulders, and Mel was certain her baby sister would tire of the idea before it could get as far as her back.
Vicky was heavily influenced by both of her older sisters—a bit of a tomboy like Mel, with a knack for shopping like Stephanie. And, of course, she carried the full weight of their mother’s expectations on her shoulders.
All Rush women had been groomed to be role models in the African-American community. Beverly Rush presided over any and every minority-related organization or charity in the tri-state area. For her, image was everything, and today was no exception. She was the picture of elegance in her pearl-gray pantsuit, which perfectly complemented the silvery strands in her stylish bob.
Later, as the girls were all perched around Mel’s big art table addressing envelopes by hand because her sister insisted on the “personal” touch, Melody knew this was one area in which she excelled.
Having paid her dues hand-lettering comic books, Mel was confident her penmanship was beyond reproach. She addressed her first envelope in calligraphy, underscoring the last line with an elegant flourish. “How’s that, Stephanie?”
“Oh, Melody, that’s fabulous. If we didn’t have nearly five hundred to do, I’d ask you to do all the invitations. Doesn’t that look great, Mother?”
Melody winced instinctively, but couldn’t resist sliding her gaze in her mother’s direction. Beverly Rush got up and circled the table to stand behind her—Mel presumed to study the envelope up close.
Instead, Beverly grabbed a handful of Melody’s ponytail and wrapped it around her hand. “You are going to cut this for the wedding, aren’t you? It would take Francisco hours to force all that hair into a bun. You don’t want to take time away from the bride on her wedding day.”
Vicky gasped and Stephanie shouted, “Mother, stop it! I’d rather die than ask Mel to cut her hair for my wedding.”
Her mother released Melody’s hair and returned to her seat. “Well, Francisco is a genius. I’m sure he’ll think of something.”
Melody gripped the edge of the table. Two more months. She only had to endure this for two more months.
Bass came from the kitchen with the hors d’oeuvres she’d prepared. He passed finger sandwiches like a white-gloved waiter instead of a Web designer wearing black fingernail polish. He lingered beside Lana, the Nordic blonde, who took two sandwiches, much to everyone’s surprise.
Melody suspected that Lana had a crush on Bass despite the disapproval of the other model, Jessica. Earlier she’d heard Lana remark to Jess that Bass resembled rocker Dave Navarro.
Beverly picked up a sandwich and sniffed it. Sensing the forthcoming snide remark, Melody cried out, “Don’t eat them, Mother. They’re loaded with carbs.”
Both models dropped the sandwiches like poison. “They’re not low-carb?”
As Will guided Melody into the Franklin Hotel, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Melody Rush was proving to be anything but predictable. Part of him had thought she would show up in army boots and a black shroud. Instead, she came to class in a brown broomstick skirt, black silk peasant blouse and slinky gold sandals. Her long tresses had been braided into three sections and then wrapped into a knot on top of her head.
She didn’t exactly blend in, but a sore thumb she wasn’t. It wasn’t her attire, but her mood that was most surprising. In the short time he’d known her, he’d never seen Melody so quiet. This entire evening had probably been a mistake. What had he been thinking bringing Melody so far out of her element?
“Are you okay?” he asked as they rode the elevator down to the ballroom. “You’ve been quiet ever since we got into the cab. If you’re not up for this, we can—”
“No, I’m fine. I’m sure this will be fine.”
But, to Will, she looked anything but fine.
They entered the ballroom where it was already starting to get crowded. Several couples glided around the room as the live band played a waltz.
Fearing that Melody would panic and bolt, Will kept his hand firmly on her back. The trouble was, the feel of her back, warm to his touch through the thin silk of her top had him wishing they were in a room that wasn’t quite so public.
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Robyn Amos
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: He loved a challengeYou didn′t go from being a poor kid in the hood to making millions on Wall Street unless you had a man-size desire to succeed. Will Coleman had all that–and good looks and a head-turning, hard-muscled body to match. So what if he taught ballroom dancing in his spare time? Will was all man. And all he needed was the perfect woman….She danced to the beat of a different drumThen Melody Rush, a bodacious beauty with long, wavy hair down to her curvy behind–and an equally feisty attitude–walked into his dance studio. And suddenly Will was left wondering if she might be the one.