He lifted his head and grinned at his homely face, mind whirling, stomach at peace. He’d get to be with her again, maybe tonight. Those eyes, those lips, that body.
Edgar closed his eyes and groaned, tortured by his so-long-yearned-for happiness now so closely within reach.
Only one more thing to do.
He straightened, splashed water on his face, washed his hands. Tried to tamp down his mess of wiry hair.
Okay.
Out of the men’s room, he walked back to his cubicle, one step at a time, adrenaline buzzing so loudly through his system he felt as if he were operating in a different dimension from the rest of the office.
When he rounded the corner, Melanie looked up in concern, saved her file and turned her chair to face him. “Are you okay? I’m really sorry if this has upset you. You could have told me right out that you didn’t want me with your brother, you didn’t have to pretend—”
“Melanie.” He sat, scootched his chair close to hers, took her hand. He was just going to say it. “Last night. In bed. That wasn’t Stoner. That was me.”
She raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for the punch line. He didn’t crack a smile.
The eyebrows sank slowly. “Edgar…don’t do that. It’s not funny.”
“I’m serious. It was me. It was dark, so you didn’t realize, and I thought…”
She took her hand away, eyes widening. Understanding dawned on her face, then rose and rose into full-blown horror. Not shock, not surprise, but horror. As if he’d just told her she’d slept with a person with active cases of every known STD. Or with her brother. Or with her dog.
He waited. Waited for the horror to change to surprise, for those wheels to start turning, for her to connect the man in front of her with the passion and tenderness, the wild erotic chemistry, the panting straining desperate need to join and climax, and for that surprise to soften her expression, to part her lips, Oh, Edgar, that was you!
None of that happened. She continued to stare as if she couldn’t imagine anything more disgusting than lying naked with him.
Okay. He’d wait longer. She had to make the connection soon. Tick…tick…tick…
Still nothing.
He couldn’t bear it. Not one more ticking, torturous second of this pain or this humiliation, not one.
A forced laugh, as real as he could make it. “Gotcha.”
Her laughter wasn’t forced. It was loud and long and full of so much relief that his pain, which he’d been pretty sure was as bad as it could get, got worse.
“Oh, my God, Edgar. You really had me. Ha!” She put her hand to her chest. “Damn. That would have been really, really—”
He must have shown something in his face to stop her. Something. Because thank God she did stop, and looked confused and contrite.
“Horrible?”
“No, oh, no, Edgar. No. Of course not. It’s just that you and I…” She laughed again. Uncomfortable this time. He was glad. He wanted her to suffer, even just a little. “We’re not about…that.”
“Right.” She was wrong. She was so damn wrong, he wanted to jump up and bellow it, beat his chest and fling furniture around the office.
But that wasn’t him. He was sweet, gentle Edgar, who let the world walk all over him rather than trip people up to get what he wanted. Who adored this woman unreasonably and would do anything rather than make her unhappy.
So she’d go on being wrong, and he’d go on being her best friend, and she’d probably go on and try to screw Stoner again. And even when she did and the sex was bad compared to what they’d shared, even when she put two and two together as she writhed in bed with his brother and realized Edgar really had been in bed with her last night.
At least he wouldn’t be there to see that look of sick horror on her face ever, ever again.
4
“THIS WAS MADE FOR YOU.” Melanie held a pretty teal cotton sweater up to her sister. The color would look gorgeous with Alana’s dark hair.
Nose wrinkled, Alana gave the top a once-over. Melanie wanted to growl at her. She wasn’t wild about shopping with her sister under any circumstances, but since the trip had been Mom’s idea, Alana was being even less cooperative than usual. If she’d found the same top herself she’d love it.
“Yes! That is really cute. Alana, try it on, I want to see.” Tricia smiled so hard it looked painful. Melanie wished she’d relax and let Alana come to her when she was ready.
“Thanks, it’s not really me.” Alana walked to another section. Melanie turned away, embarrassed for her sister, hurting for her mother. Maybe Alana would never be ready, which was stupid.
They were at Wauwatosa’s Mayfair Mall, attempting to have a fun girls’ shopping day over way too complicated undercurrents. They probably should have stayed home.
But since they hadn’t, Melanie browsed the racks determinedly, trying to find something else Alana would like, and something Mom would like, and while she was at it, how about something Stoner would like on Melanie?
No matter how hard she tried to stop it, her brain played a constant soundtrack: Stoner, Stoner, Stoner, Stoner.
She burned for him, in a way she hadn’t ever burned for a guy except when he was right in front of her, taking off his clothes. It wasn’t just the sex, either, though mmm, no complaints there. It was that feeling. That emotion, that sense that they belonged to each other, that she was his most cherished possession, and he hers.
Melanie was falling in love. For real.
Yeah, she’d thought she was falling in love for real before. A dozen or so men had made the cut, but this time…this time it was for real. For one thing, she wasn’t telling anyone, and all the other times she couldn’t trumpet her passion loudly enough to enough people. And…well, she just knew.
The thought scared her but excited her, too. Wasn’t it about time? She was twenty-six, with too many lovers in her past. Maybe all of them had led her to Stoner, all those disappointments made her more able to recognize the real thing when it smacked her.
The terrifying possibility did remain that he wasn’t in love with her. How could he not be? Without words, everything he did had said it loud and clear all night long.
I love you, Melanie.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Melanie started and realized she was holding up an orange-and-green-striped blouse with ruffles, staring absently, not seeing a thing while she enjoyed her fantasy. Alana had busted her. “It’s beautiful! It will go perfectly with your orange eyes and green hair, sister dear.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Alana, how about this?” Tricia held up a soft pink sweater with a dipping neckline and diagonal, alternating smooth and pebbled-knit stripes. “You can dress it up for a foundation meeting or dress it down for a date. Sexy, but not provocative.”
Silence while Alana contemplated whether nursing her hostility was worth passing up a gorgeous sweater. Melanie goosed her firmly.
“Yeah, it’s nice.” She took the sweater from their mother and marched to the dressing room.
Melanie gave her mom a thumbs-up and a weak grin. She didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of this battle. Tricia had been a terrible mother, but…she was trying to make amends. Second chances were important, so Melanie would swallow her anger and get to know Tricia as a friend at least. She hoped Alana would eventually do likewise.
“Have you been in touch with Stoner yet?”
“Uh…no.” She ran her hands over a rack of skirts, loving the feel of soft material under her fingers. “I’m letting him make the next move.”