Waltz This Way Read online

  The reporter’s eyes narrowed to small slits in his head as he wiped the blood from his nose. “I could press charges,” he sneered at Mel.

  Drew’s fi sts clenched. “You defi nitely could, but when you’re pressing those charges or blogging about this or whatever it is you snakes do, make sure you tell everyone you put your hand on the lady fi rst. And there are, oh, I’d say, probably thirty or so witnesses to attest to that fact, right folks?” Drew’s eyes looked to the astonished customers for acknowledgment.

  Customers that began to clap and cheer in response to Drew’s request.

  Fierce shoved his way past Drew and Nikos with resentful eyes and a red face, stomping his embarrassment to the door.

  “Byyyye, Fierce,” Drew drawled. Then all of his attention was immediately on Mel. He put a hand to her cheek. “Did he do that to your eye? I came in at the back end of it, saw he had his hand on your arm and wouldn’t let you go, and reacted. My apologies for behaving like the caveman you expect me to be.”

  Mel leaned into his hand, closing her eyes to fend off the sudden attack of the girlies. “No. He didn’t do this to my eye, and thank you.

  You have no idea how terrifi ed I am of the press … Anyway, thank you.”

  He smiled, infuriatingly handsome. “You on your way out?”

  Realizing she’d just created a scene, her appetite was suddenly gone. Frankie appeared out of nowhere with a carryout box. “I’m sorry, honey. I never saw him coming and by the look on your face, I know you just want to crawl into a hole now. But you have to eat in 9780425245507_WaltzThisWay_TX_p1-344.indd 107

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  your hole. Take this with you, for me. Eat when you get home and you’re not so upset.”

  Jasmine pushed a stray strand of Mel’s hair from her face, cupping her cheek as Maxine rubbed her arm. “Let’s have lunch on Saturday, okay? All four of us. I have a kitchen that just begs for someone to cook in it, and Simon would love nothing more than to have three gorgeous women to fl irt with. I’ll call you tomorrow with directions.

  Now, let the nice hunk, um, man walk you to your car. You are a nice man, aren’t you?” Jasmine gave him the evil eye.

  “The nicest,” Drew replied in return.

  Neil draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in to whisper, “Oh-m-gee. Mel’s got an admirer. You gonna be okay with him?”

  She patted his hand and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m fi ne. He’s fi ne. I just want to leave so everyone will stop staring. I’m sorry, Neil. I’m so sorry. Stupid me to think they wouldn’t eventually catch up to me. I’ll see you tomorrow. You know, when all humane people are still asleep?”

  Neil nodded, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

  Rattled, Mel whispered her apologies to everyone, especially Frankie, whose place of business had been turned upside down then let Drew lead her out to her car.

  He took her hand in his as they made the short walk to her father’s truck in silence. She backed up against the truck’s door, still holding his hand, warm and callused against her cold skin. “What are you doing here?”

  “Men who don’t dance eat, too.” His thumb caressed her palm in maddening circles.

  Her laugh was nervous. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m glad you were there. I knew I couldn’t hide forever, but I’d hoped eventually all the speculation about me would die down. But it seems the more elusive I am, the more everyone wants the dirt.”

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  “No kidding. Does that happen often?”

  Instantly, she worried he feared for the safety of Nate and the boys at Westmeyer. “No. This is the fi rst time since the divorce. I’m sorry you were involved.”

  “I’m not. I had to fi nd a way to show off my manhood. Knocking some cocky reporter out was as good a way as any.”

  Mel laughed, gazing up at him with shy eyes. “Either way, thank you. I appreciate you running interference.” On impulse, she rose on her toes to plant a kiss of gratitude on his cheek when Drew turned his head and the side of her lips caught his.

  The world did something funny then. Something it had never done before, and while she might have only been married to one man all her life, she’d kissed a lot of boys beforehand.

  The world sort of fell out of focus before righting itself, making her swoon.

  Swoon.

  Their lips disconnected, but Drew didn’t move away. Instead, he let his mouth linger at the side of hers, achingly enticing. “Gratitude and you make a nice combination. Who knew the dancing queen doesn’t just have a smart mouth, but a kissable one, too?”

  Her breath shuddered when he spoke, her body leaning into his.

  She shivered and knew she couldn’t blame it on the cool evening air.

  Drew revved her engine, fl oated her boat, and made her lady parts do handstands. “Who knew a Neanderthal could be so noble and gal-lant and worthy of my gratitude?”

  Instantly, Mel pulled back, fl attening against the truck. Who was this Flirty McFlirt? “Well, anyway, thank you. I get so tongue- tied when it comes to the press that it makes me an easy target.”

  Drew let a hand rest on the doorframe of the truck, loosely pinning her in position. “Funny. You don’t seem to have that trouble with me.”

  Her breathing was becoming choppy at his close proximity.

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  “That’s because I’m not concerned you’ll write some story that mis-construes every word I say and turn it into something ugly and completely untrue.”

  “What a shitty way to live, Mel. I’m sorry.”

  Was that genuine remorse or just the generic condolence everyone offered? “I managed to stay out of it for a very long time, but since my divorce …” Mel clamped her mouth shut.

  “Yeah. Most of us get divorced and generally no one cares but your immediate family. Your divorce has been a circus that’s involved the entire world.”

  Mel’s breath hitched when Drew’s cologne drifted to her nose.

  Had he seen the reports on Hollywood Scoop? Had he watched all those undernourished female reporters, wearing designer- label dresses, speculate about her whereabouts and if she was taking her meals in a soup kitchen or living on Johnny Depp’s secluded island while she lapped up his pity?

  The coy fl irting she’d indulged in moments ago slipped away and was replaced by the heavy air of her humiliation. Knowing he’d probably seen more personal details about her life with Stan than she’d reveal to someone she hardly knew made her hope the ground would open and swallow her up— now.

  Pity was not something you wanted from your obsession. It served as a mood killer for all those naughty thoughts. “It was defi nitely a circus. Complete with elephants and a sideshow freak.” Her temple began to throb. “Look, I have to go. I have to be up early, but thanks again.” Mel slipped under his arm, turning her back to him to look through her purse for her keys.

  But Drew took her arm in a light grasp. “Don’t run away. I was just making an observation. I was sympathizing. Something I’m sure you think I’m incapable of, but I was nonetheless. I’m divorced, too.

  It had a sort of suck-i-tude to it. Granted, it wasn’t as global in the 9780425245507_WaltzThisWay_TX_p1-344.indd 110

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  sucky department as yours, but it su
cked just the same. Even us com-moners feel pain.”

  His body, sheltering her from behind, and his words, spoken with a quiet decency, struck the chords of her heart. “It did suck, and I’m sorry yours sucked. But it’s over now, and I’m really trying to move forward. Reporters like that Fierce just make it diffi cult.”

  Drew’s breath was back in her ear, making her fi ght a soft sigh and the impulse to lean back against his wide chest. “I bet I can help you move forward.”

  Mel hid her smile, fi nally locating her keys and pulling them out to beep the truck door open with shaking fi ngers. “Really?”

  “Really. Moving forward always involves getting out and experiencing new things. At least that’s what my family told me when I got divorced. So I say you experience coffee with me— in the spirit of moving forward. Consider it therapy from one of the former walking wounded. You know, like a sponsor- type thing. Nothing serious. No commitments, just some coffee.”

  Breathless, she popped the door open when something occurred to her. This was a chance to purge herself of Drew McPhee. She’d berated herself for a week now for turning him down, and since that day, he’d become the object of her desire. That couldn’t be healthy.

  What she had to do was prove to herself he was no big thang.

  Drew wasn’t someone she’d idolized since her childhood like Stan had been. He was just a man.

  Yes, he was an amazing specimen of man, but if she’d learned one thing about her qualifi cations for amazing, it was that she was unqualifi ed to make smart decisions about exactly what constituted amazing.

  But she and Drew were equals, neither of them any more knowl-edgeable about any one thing than the other. Stan had had the upper hand because he was older and his expertise in the fi eld of dance was respected and legendary.

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  Drew was just a

  good-

  looking guy. A

  good-

  looking guy she

  couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Emotionally, she was still an insecure wreck— which could be why she couldn’t get him out of her head. It had been a long time since a man had shown any interest in her, and that included Stan. A little spark of attention from anyone of the male persuasion was bound to be something she clung to at such a vulnerable stage, when she felt fat and ugly.

  Yet, Mel recognized that would only be moving from one unhealthy Stan habit to another. Drew wasn’t the only man in the world. Maybe once she’d experienced him, she would discover that, and she could do this forward motion thing everyone raved about like it was the next best thing since Bare Lifts had been invented.

  Turning around, she summoned her dancing skills— more spe-cifi cally, the skills she’d used in a tango, which required her to convince the audience and judges she was hot on the hunt for her partner.

  A tango was often a story of seduction, one she’d told endlessly with Neil in competition. The dance where she was the seducer, luring a man into her web with her sultry hips and smoldering eyes.

  Mel tried a confi dent smile on for size, squaring her shoulders and holding her head up to fi nd Drew’s eyes gazing down at her. “Okay, when?”

  If he was stunned by her acceptance, he didn’t show it. “Friday?”

  “Where?”

  “The club for swingers. You know, in the next town over? I thought we could dabble in bondage. There’s no better way to get to know someone than when they’re tied up on one of those spiky tables, if you ask me.”

  Mel laughed, her giggle fl oating from her lips. “If I thought we had nothing in common before, I’m sure of it now.”

  “Damn. How could I have pegged you so wrong?”

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  “It’s those pesky assumptions. So where?” She tapped a fi nger on her carryout carton, waiting.

  Drew’s brow furrowed like he hadn’t expected her to say yes.

  Maybe he was more about the challenge than the actual coup? “How about that new café in town? Daisy’s, I think it is.”

  “Time?”

  “Seven?”

  “Date.”

  His eyebrow rose in surprise. “ What— no fi ght? No protests? Just

  ‘date’?”

  Mel smirked at him, tipping her jaw over her shoulder. “Should I have presented more of a challenge than I already have?”

  His expression was cynical. “There’s a catch.”

  Mel shrugged her shoulders, feigning indifference. “No catch.

  Your words of wisdom made me realize you’re right. I should begin to experience life again. It may as well be you I experience my fi rst date with. You know, so I can oil all those rusty spots for my future dating health. I’ll work out all my awkward, insecure, haven’t-dated-in- twenty- years vulnerabilities on you. Some lucky man will thank you someday for breaking me in.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, hitching his jaw at her with a grunt. “So now I’m the date guinea pig?”

  Mel smiled, liking the turn this had unexpectedly taken. All of a sudden, she felt in control. And it was good. “That does have a certain ring to it. Besides, you were the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer, knowing full well I’m emotionally a shit wreck and probably not ready to date. I did tell you that. Yet, you persisted. Now that I’ve called your bluff, are you chickening out?” she challenged, feeling the stirrings of the Mel who’d once fl oored judges by trading her off the dance fl oor sunny disposition for a blistering hot temptress in the tango.

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  Ah, yes, she knew this costume, and as she tried it back on for size again, it was a little tight in some places, but it still fi t. All right, some of her rhinestones had fallen off, but she still had it, if she was judging his reaction correctly.

  The small tic in his jaw twitched, delighting her enough to make her grin. “Chickening out? The. Hell. I’ll tell you this. It’ll be the best date you’ve ever been on. I’ll make you eat those words.”

  Tipping her head back, she fl ashed him a look of cynicism by giving him her best haughty, yet come- hither, glance. “Well, seeing as I haven’t been on any dates almost ever— you won’t have much expectation to live up to.”

  “I guess we’ll see about that, Ms. Cherkasov,” he gritted, clearly realizing she’d thrown down an imaginary gauntlet and had all but dared him to show her a good time.

  Mel climbed into the truck, ignoring her aching thighs, fl ashing him another fl irty, slow smile. She turned the key in the ignition and pressed the button to the driver’s side window down. “Fine. Daisy’s.

  Friday at seven. Bring your best game.” She fl icked her fi ngers at him as though she was dismissing the very notion, calling upon the thousands of times she’d had to give Neil a dramatic, choreographed shove.

  Drew frowned again. It was obvious he was now unclear who’d won the fi rst round of this battle she’d secretly created. His face hardened, turning all those muscles in his jaw into clenched bits of fl esh. “You’re on, lady. Friday at seven.” He turned away from the truck with a scowl, taking big strides in the other direction of the diner’s parking lot, the dark night swallowing him up.

  Mel’s hands shook as she backed the truck up and she was able to drop the performance of a lifetime. She came down hard; unaware her body had been so coiled in tension.

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  Drew’s handsome face and how he’d fought to hide his uncertainty at her acceptance, and it made her giggle. Her total one- eighty had taken him by surprise. Good.

  If Drew McPhee wanted a date, then by all that was holy, he was going to get a date.

  With the Mel who, at one time in her life, on a dance fl oor anyway, had been as confi dent as any man- eater.

  Insecurity be damned. She was going to don her inner spray tan and sparkly rhinestones and wash Drew and his nuclear brand of sexy right out of her hair.

  !

  Mel breezed into her father’s house, dropping her dinner and her purse on the table with a careless clunk.

  “Hey, how was your day, Swedish meatball?” her dad called from the kitchen, his large frame covered in his favorite fl annel bathrobe.

  He was scooping ice cream into a bowl while Jake sat at his feet.

  “Guess what?” she asked, reaching for Weezer’s leash and patting her thigh to encourage him to come. He lumbered toward her, his soulfully droopy eyes held a smile always reserved only for her. She leaned down to drop a kiss on his massive head.

  Joe’s head popped around the corner of the kitchen. “What?”

  “I’m going on a date.” She threw the words out like she was a bul-let aiming for a target. “I fi gured I’d better tell you before Myriam Hernandez tells all the seniors and brands me the Village whore.”

  Joe’s nod was slow, when he pushed a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, his eyes hesitant. “Okay. That’s nice. I’m glad you’re gettin’

  out.”

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