License to Thrill

Her gaze fastened on his face, but she kept walking. He steered her through the door, then closed it and turned the key in the dead bolt. He pocketed the key, then let her go, oddly disappointed he no longer had a reason to touch her.

She ran her hand absently over the marble-tiled countertop that had been the deciding factor in his taking the town house, though he had yet to understand her fascination with the piece of rock. She turned toward him, her eyes soft and watchful.

Marc barely heard the loud, curious meow and the clicking of nails against the kitchen floor until Brando wound himself around Mel’s ankles.

“Oh, God, you still have him.” She bent to lift the cat into her arms and cuddled him close. For a moment, a crazy moment, Marc allowed himself to believe Mel was here on her own steam.

“Of course, I kept him,” Marc said quietly, turning away. He tensed, half expecting her to mention all the times he swore he’d toss the scruffy scrap of gray fur from the place after she’d dumped the stray in his lap. But after Mel disappeared from his life… Well, the arguments on how the new town house and the cat wouldn’t get along meant little. And having something of Mel meant a hell of a lot more.

He felt her probing gaze on him. Well, that bothersome habit hadn’t changed, had it? She still looked at him as if she could see to the core of his soul. And, stupidly, he still felt the need to hide it from her. Especially now.

He opened the refrigerator, using the door to block her gaze. “Why don’t you go wait in the living room. This shouldn’t take long.” Peripherally, he saw her finger the empty phone perch on the far kitchen wall. Then the pat of her shoeless feet against the tile told him she had left the room.

MELANIE MADE HER WAY through the all too familiar town house, trying not to notice the changes. Or, more importantly, trying not to register all that hadn’t changed.

She didn’t want to see the paperback she had readily abandoned on the side table when Marc had tackled her on the leather sofa.

She didn’t want to remember how they had a wallpaper glue fight while decorating.

She rested her hand on the dining room table, trying to erase from her mind what had happened the one and only time they had attempted to have a civil meal, only to end up with her right elbow resting in a plate full of mashed potatoes. It had taken three washes to get all the gravy out of her hair.

She closed her eyes. No phones. Not a single one of the three extensions was in sight. She swallowed the panic that had been accumulating in the back of her throat all day. During the drive, she had come to the conclusion that she couldn’t return to the dinner and pretend nothing had happened; that much was obvious. But at least she could tell someone she was okay and that they shouldn’t worry.

“Who would you like to explain this to, Melanie?” she whispered, absently stroking the purring cat in her arms. “I’ve got it. You’d call Craig. He’d be upset, but surely he’d understand. No, no, you’d call Mother and make her worry even more that you’re going to run out on your groom.”

She leaned against the living room wall and closed her eyes, not wanting to be reminded of the past. But everything in this place brought the memories rushing back. Marc hadn’t changed a single thing since their breakup. She came awfully close to indulging in a smile, thinking she could check back in fifty years and everything would probably be the same, only a lot older. His battered leather recliner was still a mile away from the television set, though he’d argued with her for weeks after she had convinced him to move it there. Her short-lived plan had been to arrange his things so that when she moved in, he wouldn’t have to move anything to accommodate her stuff.

It was a stupid plan.

She swallowed, trying to forget all about that time in her life. Staring at spilt milk wasn’t going to get it cleaned up, as her mother was fond of saying.

She thought about Craig and all he offered, comparing him to Marc and the thrilling impermanence of a life spent on the edge. Craig was practical, thoughtful and predictable. Marc was exhilaratingly irresponsible, selfish and boyishly irresistible.

But, ultimately, the absence of a father in her life made Melanie desperately long for her child to know one. And Craig would give her child everything he needed. Her baby deserved that.

Marc… Well, Marc wasn’t interested in being a father.

No matter what happened, she knew she had to marry Craig.

Still, the sadness that filled her was overwhelming in its intensity.

As her gaze slowly focused, it settled on the coffee table. A pile of well-thumbed magazines littered the top. Melanie bent down and let Brando go. The cat scampered toward the kitchen, as she moved toward the table.

Cosmopolitan? Redbook? Working Woman? She slowly leafed through the magazines strewn across the surface between empty beer bottles and a doughnut box.

“Mel, I was thinking—” Marc’s words abruptly stopped.

Before she had a chance to blink, he was across the room, gathering the books. “Never mind those. They, um, were delivered here by mistake.”

Melanie turned over the one she held and found his name on the label. She blinked at him, a curious warmth spreading through her chest.

He jerked the magazine from her grasp.

She decided he had gone mad. He might look like the same hunk who had swept her off her feet two years ago with his charm and devil-may-care take on life. But his actions now… She was afraid they marked him a few croutons short of a full salad. So what if he looked even more in control than he ever had? He had kidnapped her, for God’s sake. Swiped her from her wedding rehearsal dinner not ten yards away from a roomful of guests. Threw her over his shoulder and handcuffed her in the back of his Jeep. And he was reading women’s magazines. That more than anything proved he wasn’t in full charge of his faculties.

Yet the fact that he was reading women’s magazines somehow touched her.

“I should have left you handcuffed,” Marc grumbled.

“Let me guess, you like the pictures,” she said, forcing her gaze to the French doors leading to the back yard. He was so outrageously embarrassed, reminding her of a young boy who’d just got caught with a Playboy under his bed. “Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t. Leave me handcuffed, that is.”

He stuffed the magazines into a garbage can. “I didn’t think it was necessary. The way I figure it, you run, I’m on you before you can get ten feet.” He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. “So you might as well sit down until I’m finished.” Tin cans clunked together as he tossed a handful into a large brown bag.

She watched him, not sure what to make of his behavior. He was still so much a little boy wrapped up in a gorgeous man’s body. On the job he was a confident professional, but when it came to matters of the heart, she was afraid Marc could qualify for the role of Dumbest in the sequel to Dumb and Dumber. She swallowed hard. She pushed aside her attraction to those endearing qualities and reminded herself that she needed a responsible adult.

She absently sat in his recliner, but the action wasn’t as easy as she had hoped. The hem of her dress hiked up to her panties. She tugged at her sister’s idea of a dress, wishing she had gone with something a little more conservative.

“Do you want a coffee? It’s your favorite,” Marc said.

She shifted to look into his face. He held out a hefty mug to her. The aroma of French vanilla made her mouth water. She accepted the mug, longing for a sip, though she couldn’t drink it. Caffeine and all that. Still, she decided it best not to argue with him right now. She’d pretend to drink the coffee. Then she would talk him into letting her go. It was as simple as that.

Marc continued doing whatever it was he was doing, passing through the room several times carrying bags. One bag in particular caught her attention because it wasn’t plain brown paper like the others, but rather a glossy pink with purple handles. She squinted to read the words printed across the outside: Old Towne Bed and Bath Shoppe.

She sat upright and made an attempt at pulling the ripped seam of her dress together even as she tugged at the hem. “Okay, let me phrase my question in a way even you can understand, Marc. What, exactly, is your objective?”

“My objective?” He stood and stuffed something into the pink bag.

She fidgeted. “You didn’t go through all this just so you could serve me a coffee.” She glanced at the untouched coffee in the cup she’d put on the table, then eyed him. “Did you?”

He rocked on his heels, then folded his arms across his chest. “No, you’re right, I didn’t.”

Hope shot through her. He was beginning to sound reasonable. Good. That meant she would soon be out of this place and back to her new safe, predictable life in Bedford in no time. “So?”

“Ah, yes, my objective.” He reached to scoop up Brando, who sat on the floor. The casual move made Melanie remember when she’d brought the scrappy cat home from the shelter after having him neutered and declawed. Marc had picked up the tiny, shivering kitten, drew him close to his chest and said, “I coulda been a contender,” earning the cat his name.

Marc cleared his throat. “Let’s just say it’s important for you to spend some time with me, that’s all.”

“Time?” Melanie focused on the conversation, not liking his vague answer. “How much time are we talking about here? An hour? Two hours?”

He lifted his head to meet her gaze. Melanie’s throat closed at the determination she saw in his eyes. “As much time as it takes.”

“What?” Melanie rose from the chair. “As much time as it takes for what?” Certainly he wasn’t trying to… “I am going to marry Craig, Marc.”

He stepped closer to her, then appeared to change his mind and stepped back. Despite the distance that separated them, Melanie felt as if he’d touched her.

“All this, your getting married…it’s about that night, isn’t it?” he asked.

She knew he had to be talking about the disastrous discussion they’d had about love just before she was shot. Melanie swallowed her surprise. She had seen Marc McCoy in various hair-raising situations. But never had he been so eager to understand.