- -
- 100%
- +
Hurrying out the front door, she grimaced at the summer sun, still forceful even at this hour of the evening. Maybe luck would be with her and she could at least arrive without having sweated off her careful grooming. It wasn’t until she was halfway to Trent’s house that she realized she’d left the directions—along with Trent’s number—on the bed, and he had mentioned his phone was unlisted.
Gritting her teeth, she turned around and headed back, praying she wouldn’t get stopped as she skirted the speed limit. In the end, she reached Trent’s neighborhood only a little late. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
As she passed through the wrought-iron and stone archway that spanned the entry to the subdivision, she slowed down considerably. Any neighborhood this Yuppie was bound to have the requisite 2.4 children per household running around.
She snorted softly as a pair of identically clad joggers passed her on the sidewalk, their glances at her beat-up car expressing their concern as to what she might be doing on their side of town. Even the two fur balls running alongside stared at her. She wondered how their owners had trained them to do that.
The gate to Trent’s place was open, and several cars lined the large driveway. She parked and headed for the front door, more than a little impressed. Somehow she guessed that no matter how old she got or how far she moved from the Buda, Texas, of her youth, she would always be awed by obvious wealth displayed in elegant, understated ways such as this.
Point in fact, she was much more impressed than she wanted to be. Her earlier musing proved correct—Trent did live in the house of her dreams.
The lines were elegant. Soft, draping curtains covered the many windows, back-lit by a warm and welcoming glow. She would have picked the same natural rock on the face of the house, and the steeply sloping roof promised at least one room with a vaulted ceiling.
The front porch was laden with green plants, and she couldn’t stop herself from touching one to make sure it was real. She was surprised at the depth of her relief that, indeed, the greenery was alive.
The doorbell was answered by none other than seaman Joey. After announcing that his mother was in the kitchen, and pointing in the general direction of the back of the house, her erstwhile guide took off down the hallway toward the “beep-twiddle-beep” of a video game in progress.
With a shrug, Melodie headed through the house, breathing deeply the soft essence of flowers. Along with her other mistaken preconceptions regarding Trent, Melodie added decorating to her list. She’d been expecting dark leather, but found instead beige and soft blue fabrics. The carpet was deep and luxurious, though—she’d been right about that.
The house was filled with sound. In addition to the hidden video game, a stereo somewhere was playing soft rock favorites that mingled with laughter from down the hall to her left. She assumed the mixture of voices were the other members of the video team Trent had mentioned.
Melodie wound her way through the living room, assuming she was going in the right direction, and finally located the kitchen. She was delighted to find Bridgette exactly as she’d expected the parent of an urchin like Amber to be: petite, with her light brown hair pulled back in a swinging ponytail, and a bright, sweet smile. The mother was as warm and pleasant as the daughter, and it was easy to tell that Amber would be equally beautiful when she grew up.
“Amber talks about you all the time,” Bridgette offered as she shook Melodie’s hand and returned to slicing tomatoes. “She just loves dance class and is absolutely sure she’s going to be a prima ballerina when she grows up.”
Melodie chuckled. “Don’t worry. As soon as she hits the tomboy stage, she’ll want to be a fireman.”
Bridgette smiled in return. “Oh, I’m sure. But I just wanted you to know that I appreciate the attention you give her.” Bridgette stopped cutting and cocked her head. “Not that she gives you any choice!”
“Are you talking about my sweet girl?” A deep voice preceded a tall, blond-haired man into the kitchen. He moved behind Bridgette, wrapping his arms around her waist to nuzzle her neck.
Both intrigued by their play and feeling intrusive, Melodie’s stomach tightened as she watched the couple. She wasn’t used to such open displays of affection.
“Glen, stop it!” Bridgette shrugged him off, her cheeks flushing a becoming pink. “Glen, this is Melodie. She’s Amber’s dance teacher.”
Glen offered Melodie a firm handshake. “So you’re the one responsible for the need for ballet slippers and tights in every conceivable color.”
“Oh, no,” Melodie defended herself with a laugh. “I don’t have a dress code for class. The kids were supposed to bring home notes telling you that.”
“I think Amber conveniently lost hers.”
“Listen, Melodie,” Bridgette interjected, “would you mind taking these buns out to the barbecue so Trenton can get them browning? If I can get Glen to leave me alone long enough, I’ll finish the condiments.”
The knot in Melodie’s stomach pulled taut. What could she say?
“Uh, sure.”
“Just go straight through there,” Bridgette directed with a pickle in hand, “and out the sliding doors to the patio.”
Taking the bag of buns, Melodie left as instructed.
Trenton heard the glass door slide open, but he was too busy fighting the flaming grill with his squirt bottle to turn around. “Just a second, brat. I’m a little busy right now.”
When he turned, he pulled himself up short. The beautiful woman standing there certainly wasn’t Bridgette. She bore a striking resemblance to the quirky dance teacher he’d met earlier in the afternoon, however.
And a smile was twitching at the corner of her mouth.
“I have to admit I haven’t been called a brat by a relative stranger in a long time. People usually have to know me for at least a week.”
Trenton felt chagrined. “I apologize for that. I thought you were Bridgette.”
“Nope, just me with the buns.”
Trenton had to bite his tongue to keep from saying, “And nice buns they are.” He didn’t know Melodie yet, and sometimes people were taken off guard by his humor. Not to mention that, from their conversation this afternoon, Melodie obviously thought him something of a stuffed shirt. He wanted to relieve her of that impression, but not by changing the image to a sexist jerk.
She stepped forward, a little awkwardly, which struck him as odd. He found everything about her graceful, just as he’d expect in a dancer. Now that she was out of that baggy T-shirt and those wild leggings, he could see that his suspicions were indeed correct. Her sleeveless shirt revealed sleek, toned arms and an elegant neck. Her wrap skirt hugged slender hips, as well as the long legs he’d admired earlier, pigs and all.
Hearing the grill sizzle warningly behind him, he hurried forward to take the bread.
“Why don’t you grab something to drink and have a seat?” He motioned with his tongs toward a cooler at the end of the benches built into the perimeter of the deck.
A length of her hair fell over her shoulder as she chose a cola from the ice. With the sunset behind her, and the breeze playing with her long tresses, she looked as though she could be posing for a commercial. He was sure he wouldn’t be the only man to buy that brand of soda.
Suddenly his mouth felt dry. “Would you mind grabbing a root beer for me?” He nodded toward the grill. “It keeps flaming up and I don’t want to scorch the burgers.”
A moment later, as she handed him the chilled can, his fingers touched hers just for a second. It sent a jolt up his arm. Funny. He hadn’t noticed how small the deck was before now. He’d entertained twenty or thirty people before and it had never felt this close.
And quiet. He’d turned off the outside speakers to enjoy the crickets and cicadas, but now the silence wrapped around him.
He cleared his throat. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”
“None at all.” She glanced around the deck. “Why are you out here by yourself?”
He flipped a patty and looked back at her. “Although the breeze makes it tolerable out here, everybody else likes the air conditioning. Besides, I just bought the newest version of Space Warriors from Planet Ten, and everyone’s trying to beat my high score.”
“You play video games?”
Her expression was nothing short of amazed. He barked a laugh. “Sure, why not?”
In the fading sunlight, he thought she blushed, but he wasn’t certain. “I don’t know. I…didn’t take you for the video type.”
His grin widened. “Just what type did you take me for?”
She smiled back. “Oh, somehow I imagined you spending an intimate evening with six or seven law books and a stack of legal pads.”
Trenton exaggerated a wince. “Sounds like I need to work on my image.”
She remained enigmatically silent.
He tried again. “I’m glad you could make it after all. What made you change your mind?”
“The idea intrigues me,” she said, her face brightening. “I think I was taken off guard this afternoon. When I had a minute alone to let it all sink in, I realized I’d spoken too hastily at Kidstravaganza.”
The grill chose to flame up again before he could reply. “Yow!” he. yelped, snapping his hand away from the danger. He grimaced and nodded toward rust on the grill. “I’m glad the neighborhood association hasn’t been by for an inspection, or I’d be in big trouble.”
Again, surprise registered on her face. Had he really made that bad of a first impression? Did she think he had no sense of humor at all?
Every time he glanced at her, he experienced her viscerally. His lungs constricted, or his gut went taut, or his legs tightened. He found it all rather interesting since he’d been around some of the most beautiful women in the city, and none of them had had this effect on him.
He was suddenly having trouble remembering why he couldn’t put her on his candidate list because he felt certain that somehow, some way, he was going to have to kiss those noncandidate lips. As much as he knew he needed his next breath, he would have to know the taste of her just one time before they went their separate ways. Although the end to his bachelorhood was imminent, it wasn’t a fait accompli yet! He wouldn’t mind spending some of his remaining free time with a beauty like Melodie. In fact, his fingers itched to run through that mass of molten flame cascading down her back. He guessed it would reach to her beautiful behind when let out of the elegant twist she’d spun it into, and he had every intention of confirming his suspicion as soon as the situation allowed.
His conscience twinged. When she’d been dressed in purple tie-dye and piggy leggings, he had immediately assumed she was flighty and inappropriate for the video. Even when they’d talked at the pizza parlor, he’d liked her more and more but still had been relieved when she’d declined an interest. Now, however, faced with this vision, he was forced to admit he had judged her on surface evidence. He, of all people, should know better than that.
When she glanced nervously at her fingernails—which he noticed were missing the purple enamel—he knew he must have been staring. It made her uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said.
She shrugged and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I should expect your confusion after the way I was dressed this afternoon.”
He matched her chuckle. “I must admit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like that get-up.”
The corners of her eyes wrinkled as she smiled. It was charming.
“Now you’ll have to forgive me for being rude, but you could use a casual consultant.” Her eyes raked down his sports shirt and cutoffs.
“What?” he asked with pretended affront. “You don’t like my outfit?”
“It’d be perfect if you’d put on a faded, holey jersey. But the collared shirt thing…” She shook her head despairingly.
Trenton guessed he wouldn’t have to worry about whether she’d express her opinion or not if she joined the video team.
She took a sip of her drink.
Trenton finished piling the burgers on a platter and started toasting the buns.
The sound of the door gliding open caught their attention. Bridgette came out, holding hands with Glen.
“Everything’s on the table. You about ready?”
In answer, Trenton handed Glen the huge platter of burgers. After taking the last set of buns off the grill, he shut off the gas and carried that platter himself.
Glancing back toward Melodie, he jerked his head toward the house. “Come on. Let’s eat.”
The ensuing moments were chaotic. Melodie was introduced to Ronald, Juan and Cassie, Bridgette’s teammates. Ronald, she learned, was the cameraman, Juan the marketing director and Cassie did the still photography, specifically for the video jacket. Bridgette was the producer.
Amber was obviously feeling no ill effects from her upset stomach earlier for she was in the middle of the big melee of hands reaching for mayo and mustard and lettuce and pickles and chips.
A little intimidated, Melodie waited for the crowd to clear before fixing her plate and following the trail of people out of the kitchen. Bridgette was sitting on the floor, leaning back against Glen’s legs. Ronald and Juan were in the easy chairs, and Cassie had claimed the other end of the couch by Bridgette. The kids were using the coffee table to support their plates, and Trenton was sitting on the step down into the sunken area.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.