Great reviews for she drives me crazy

“Good ole boy attitudes and laid back charm make this splendid tale a local delicacy. Author Leslie Kelly brings wit, humor and exuberance to this story of one woman’s reluctant attempt to go home again.”

—Romantic Times

“I know this is only a March release but I think I’ve already found my favorite book of the year in Leslie Kelly’s She Drives Me Crazy. This is such an outstanding book on so many levels that it’s hard to mention them without giving away one of the many surprises found between the pages. A Recommended Read.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews

“Spend an evening of pleasure and fun, and treat yourself to an intensely emotional, funny, spine-tingling, and well-written book. A Perfect 10!”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Sexy, funny and a little outrageous, is a must read!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

“Leslie Kelly’s books are the perfect blend of sass and class. Her cheeky style makes her one of the strongest voices in romance today.”

—New York Times bestselling author

Vicki Lewis Thompson “Leslie Kelly is a future star of romance.”

—New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber to Publishers Weekly

More rave reviews for the books of Leslie Kelly!

“Ms. Kelly never fails to deliver a captivating story.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Top Pick! Leslie Kelly introduces characters you’ll

love spending time with; explores soulmates

you’ll dream about; and a hero to die for.”

—Romantic Times on Naturally Naughty

“Entertaining is just too tame a word.

This is pure reading pleasure.”

—The Romance Reader on Night Whispers

“Leslie Kelly writes with a matchless combination

of sexiness and sassiness that makes

every story a keeper.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews

“Kelly tells a high-energy story and

delivers a satisfying read.”

—All About Romance on Killing Time

“Leslie Kelly writes hot, steamy stories with lots

of humor and tons of romance thrown in.”

—Romance and Friends

She’s Got the Look
Leslie Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my cousin, Louis Smith, and all his pals from the

1st Marine Expeditionary Force…you’re all heroes.

To my girlfriends, past and present, who’ve always

been there for the laughing, griping, celebrating,

crying, plotting, whining and wine. Most especially

Jill, Brenda, Julie, Karen, Janelle, Camille and

Roxanne. Life wouldn’t be the same without you.

And to my hubby, Bruce…you’ll always be number

one on my list. Just above Hugh Jackman.

SHE’S GOT THE LOOK

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Six Years Ago

“EVERY WOMAN NEEDS a list of men she’ll have sex with, no questions asked, if she ever gets the chance.”

Amazingly, despite her friend’s outrageous comment, Melody Tanner managed to avoid spewing the mouthful of margarita she’d just sipped. She stared at Tanya Williams, one of her bridesmaids, who cocked an unrepentant brow. The two additional women at the table—her other closest friends—snorted and laughed.

Since they were sitting in a crowded Mexican restaurant, and since Tanya was such an attention getter, anyway, with her beautiful ebony skin, striking features and imposing height, she didn’t figure there was much chance the comment had gone unheard by those around them. But she cast a quick glance anyway.

Nope. Definitely not unheard. The pudgy guy at the next table looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. The owner of the place, who always watched them, was keeping an extra close eye, as well.

Oblivious to the attention, Tanya added, “Married, single, in a relationship or not, a woman’s gotta have a go-for-it list.” She narrowed her eyes. “Especially if she’s stupid enough to get married at twenty-one.”

“Lovely idea,” said Rosemary, her maid of honor. “A get-out-of-adultery-free card.” Rosemary’s lyrical Southern accent could make anything sound elegant. Even a sex list.

“You’re both high,” Melody muttered before taking another sip of her drink, not taking offense at Tanya’s comment about her age. Her friend had made her opinion very clear on that matter. As had everyone else.

“Come on,” Tanya said. “You’re not married yet. Be honest, there have got to be at least five guys you’d leap on if you had the chance.”

Paige, her final bridesmaid, interrupted. “She probably doesn’t need a sex list.” Paige made up for her lack of height by speaking about three decibels louder than anyone else, so they were almost certainly being overheard now. “Face it, Mel’s probably on the lists of half the men in this country.”

Melody wrinkled her nose. “The blond twit in the swimsuit edition might be. But I’m not her anymore, remember?”

No, she wasn’t. She’d gotten as far away from her former career as she could in the two years since she’d shocked everyone—especially her mother—and quit modeling. She’d stopped coloring her reddish-brown hair blond, stopped starving herself to keep slim, stopped constantly traveling with no friends close by, no family.

No family…well, you couldn’t really miss what you’d never had, could you? Her mother had been family in only the most technical sense and she had no idea who her father was. So, to her, family was a fairly loosely defined word.

The three other women sitting around this table with her had been her real family—her chosen family—for a very long time. Rosemary, Tanya and Paige were the sisters she’d never had, the ones who’d supported her when she’d walked away from the job her mother had thrust on her as a baby.

Her mother, on the other hand, had stuck around just long enough to make sure Melody wouldn’t change her mind. Once she’d accepted that—and realized the money that had supported them was going to stop rolling in—she’d married a foreign designer and moved to England.

She’d sent a Crock-Pot for Mel’s upcoming wedding. It had a European plug. That pretty much summed up Mother.

But it was okay. Melody had been dealing with her mother’s less-than-maternal instincts for years. Melody had her friends. She had a normal life. She was finally going to pursue the passion she’d never gotten to explore since she’d always been in front of a camera: she planned to work behind one.

And tomorrow, to make things perfect, she’d have another new member of her chosen family. A husband. Her marriage to a nice, smart, nonglamorous dentist would be the dot on the exclamation point as she renounced the first two decades of her life.

“Well, if you’re making a Men Most Wanted list, I want to make one, too,” said Paige. She bent under the table to dig into her purse, until all Mel could see of her were the puffy, light brown curls on the top of her head. When she came back up, she was holding a pen and a small notebook. “Now, Mel goes first since she’s the one getting married. Tonight’s her last night to do this…since it’d be tacky to make a list of men you want to have sex with after you’re married, right?” She glanced at her friends, looking for confirmation.

At the table next to them, the pudgy old man began choking on a tortilla chip. Or his tongue.

“Turn the volume down, girl,” Tanya said. “And let me do it, your writing’s awful.” Grabbing the notebook, Tanya looked at Mel. “Okay, let’s do your sex list. Tell us everything. After all, who can you share your deepest fantasies with if not us?”

Melody glanced around the room. “Uh, half of Savannah?”

Tanya leaned in. “We won’t tell. We’re your best friends.”

“Yes, you are,” she murmured, silently thanking them for their support. For being here when they all thought she was making a mistake. For loving her as much as she loved them.

The four of them were an unlikely group—Rosemary, an elegant blonde and a member of one of Savannah’s wealthiest families. Paige, the loud, giggly one who discarded jobs like some people discarded tissues. Tanya, the nearly six-feet-tall African-American who was such a perfect foil to Rosemary’s spoiled Southern belle act.

Then there was Melody, whose face had been plastered on baby-food jars as an infant, whose famous diaper commercials had become a pop-culture reference. The one who’d hammed it up on a bunch of kiddie TV shows, and whose teenage butt had filled out the curves of designer jeans. The one who smiled to show sparkling teeth and cried to sell booboo medicine and who’d landed a spot in a swimsuit issue at seventeen.

Most importantly, Mel realized, she was the one who’d kept her most valued friendships alive by winning one battle against her mother: she’d insisted they have a real home in Savannah. Which was why Paige, Tanya and Rosemary had been there for every major event in her life. Like the one tomorrow. Her wedding. To nice, handsome, considerate Dr. Bill Todd of Atlanta.

The only man she’d ever have sex with again.

Grabbing for her margarita, she drained the glass. Then she reached for the pitcher, suddenly wondering if twenty-one really was too young to give up sex with every man in the world but one. Almost without thinking about it, she mumbled, “Brad Pitt.”

Tanya snorted. “Oh, please, be a little original. If that man had sex with every woman who wanted him, he’d have to be on an intravenous Viagra drip with Spanish fly on the side.”

“I thought this was my fantasy list.”

Paige agreed with Tanya. “Fantasy, but with a shot of reality. Still, I suppose if a man knew you were the Luscious Lingerie Peacock Feather Girl you could get—”

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” Mel snapped. “People still ask me about that stupid one-of-a-kind bra-and-panty set. I would burn it, but I have a feeling it could fund my retirement.”

She’d only done one photo shoot for Luscious Lingerie, yet it seemed that’s how most of male America was going to remember her. As the Peacock Feather Girl. Funny, that particular job—which she hadn’t wanted to do in the first place—was what had made her decide to quit her former profession. Her mother-manager had insisted the exposure would be wonderful. In Melody’s opinion, the exposure had been nearly X-rated. Only if she wanted to be a porn star would the Luscious Lingerie shoot have been a wise move. Tanya had compared it to Shirley Temple posing for Penthouse after she’d gotten off the Good Ship Lollipop.

After the catalog had come out, she’d been stalked by so many men she’d had to hide out in her apartment for months. But hearing a fan say how proud he was that he’d walked in on his twelve-year-old son having his first yank-and-pull session while holding the photo of Mel in the peacock ensemble had been the last straw. Being a pinup girl for prepubescent boys to get off on was gross to the nth degree.

That’d been the moment she’d decided to quit. And finally—thankfully—she’d begun feeling she could go out without people whispering about her. The hair-color change had been a big help. So had her co-ed wardrobe and normal-person lifestyle.

“I think I’d rather be remembered for almost anything else,” she said, shaking her head. Maybe as the three-year-old running to the bathroom with her hands frantically clutching her training pants. Or, gads, as the scrub-faced teen who sang the praises of a certain brand of tampons. Like at age fifteen, she’d wanted the whole world thinking about her being on her period!

Still, they’d be better than the Peacock Feather Girl.

“I know,” Paige said. “But what I meant was, the lingerie model might have had a shot. Movie stars, however, are not in the future of Mrs. Bill the Dentist from Atlanta.”

Melody sipped again, trying to laugh at Paige’s words. Deep inside, however, she wasn’t laughing. She was wincing.

She loved Bill. She felt sure she did. He was the first man who hadn’t treated her like an object, who’d supported her decision to change her life. Marriage to him would be perfect.

So will the sex.

That was when she figured out what was really bothering her about this list thing. It was bizarre to think about having sex with a stranger—even jokingly—when she hadn’t had it with her fiancé. Bill was old-fashioned and wanted to wait.

Oh, God, what if we just don’t click in bed?

Forcing the traitorous thought away, she said, “So it’s my fantasy list, but I don’t get to say who’s on it?”

“There just have to be some ground rules,” Tanya announced.

“Why, Tanya, honey, I thought you never paid any attention to rules,” Rosemary said, sounding amused.

“First of all,” Tanya said, ignoring Rosemary, “we each need to write down copies of all four lists and hold on to them so we can keep an eye out for each other’s men.”

Paige nodded. “Good idea. And the men should be improbable—not impossible. What fun is having a fantasy if there’s not a teeny chance of it happening? It’s like buying a lottery ticket when you know you have better odds of getting hit by a low-flying seven forty-seven than winning. But you do it anyway because somebody’s gotta win.”

Melody wasn’t convinced. “This is only a joke, right? So who cares if I put Brad Pitt on there?”

Tanya blew out an impatient breath. “Of course it’s just for fun. We know you’re not a hootchie mama who’d hook up with a dude because he’s on some list. But don’t you sometimes like to wonder ‘what if?’ What fun is wondering ‘what if’ if there’s never a chance in a million years that it’ll happen?”

“Hootchie mama?” Rosemary rolled her eyes. “Really, Tanya, you’re so…descriptive.”

“Up yours,” Tanya said sweetly. She lifted the pen. “Now, Mel, your list?”

Nibbling on her lip for a second, Mel thought about it. Thankfully, the margaritas were finally kicking in. Besides, these were her best friends and, like Tanya had said, it was just silly fun. No way would any of them really jump into bed with a man at first sight. Well…maybe Rosemary, who, to be honest, had a more-than-active libido. But probably not.

Tapping her index finger on her cheek, she came up with what she thought they’d find an acceptable choice. “Jonathan Rhodes.”

“Ooh, our hunky new congressman?” Paige said.

“What can I say? I had to admire his guts with the sexy way he said his slogan.” She lowered her voice and did a bad Austin Powers impression. “I will take you with me to Washington, baby.”

He hadn’t done the baby part, but it was implied. Every time she’d heard it, Mel had given reluctant credit to the guy for appealing to female voters, who were obviously supposed to ignore the second half of that sentence and vote for him on innuendo.

The others nodded their approval, so Melody added another name—of a local guy who’d been making a name for himself on the PGA tour. His preferences meant he wasn’t much of a possibility, but he did have a cute smile. And a decent backswing.

“You know, honey, that sweet-looking man is probably not out of the realm of possibility,” Rosemary pointed out. “I bet he’d let you handle his putter any old time you asked him.”

“I hear he’s gay.”

“Ahh.” Rosemary nodded, not doubting Melody’s infamous sources, who’d kept them all in-the-know in the old days.

“Isn’t that cheating if he’s gay?” Paige asked indignantly.

“You said improbable. Not impossible. Besides, this is for fun, right? I don’t have to be too realistic. Even if he is gay, he’s still more likely than Brad Pitt.” Then, thinking of someone else, she added the name of a local TV reporter. “Drake Manning.”

Paige wrinkled her nose. “Slimy.”

That was surprising coming from Paige, who was, to be honest, the nicest one of their group. “You think?”

She nodded. “His hair never moves. I think you could hit it with a sledgehammer and it’d bounce right back into place.”

Tanya harrumphed. “It’s Mel’s list. You can put nothing but fluffy-haired heterosexuals on yours but it’s not your turn.”

“Sorry,” Paige said, looking sheepish. “Go on, Mel.”

Melody continued to think, but it was tough. Eliminating movie stars cut out about eighty percent of the men she’d ever fantasized about. Frankly, she’d never had much time for men. Her few sexual experiences before her chaste fiancé had been on-the-run affairs with an ambitious photographer who wanted to take her picture more than he’d wanted to take her. And then there’d been a male model who made friends with every mirror he met. That was it.

She sighed. “Lately my only fantasies have been about the chocolate volcano cake at Chez Jacques. I’m dying for some, but one bite’ll make my butt bulge out of my wedding gown.”

Tanya grunted, probably because she was thin as a rail and ate like a linebacker. Unlike Melody, who had been taking note of every morsel she consumed since her ninth birthday when her mother had given her an electronic calorie counter instead of the Hello Kitty play set she’d asked for.

“My father knows the chef at Chez Jacques,” Rosemary said. “His name’s not Jacques, it’s Charlie.”

“Okay, Charlie the chef,” Mel said. “He’s fourth. A man who makes art out of chocolate must be good with his hands.”

Then there was one slot left. One more fantasy guy. One more traitorous thought of another man before she ended the naughty game and focused on her fiancé. Her reality.

Draining the rest of her margarita, she contemplated naming whoever had invented fat-free cheese curls, if only to balance things out with the chocolate guy. The words were on her lips when suddenly the big-screen TV over the bar caught her eye. Or, rather, the news segment playing on it did.

She couldn’t hear well, but she didn’t have to. She knew the story. Everyone was talking about the Georgia hero who’d rescued some orphans in a third-world country. A photographer had captured the amazing moment, right in the heat of battle, and the picture had graced the cover of Time magazine last week.

It was the magazine cover that filled the screen right now as the Savannah station picked up on the Georgia-boy-done-good angle. Melody stared, unable to tear her eyes away from the haunting image. The thick-armed marine—strikingly handsome even while covered with grime and streaked with soot—was heroism personified. In one arm, he cradled a baby while, with the other, he braced an older child against his side. A tiny pair of hands and a little tear-streaked face peering above his shoulder said there was a third youngster clinging to his back.

The soldier’s dusty face was grim with resolve, his body reportedly wounded yet still so strong. The taut cords in his neck spoke of adrenaline, anger and battle—all so stark against the tenderness with which he held the children. Behind him was the outline of a burning building, orange flames merging with streaks of light that could only have been mortar fire.

But it was the eyes that got to her. The dark brown eyes, full of determination, emotion. Anger and mourning. Eyes that said he had seen too much and been cut too deeply for someone as young as he appeared to be.

His image burned itself into her brain, remaining there long after the news segment had ended and the picture had disappeared.

“Mel? You okay?” Paige asked.

She nodded slowly. Then, without having to give it another thought, she whispered, “Move everyone on the list down one.”

Melody didn’t even know the guy’s name or where he lived. Or even if he’d make it back from his next mission in whatever war-ravaged country he was in now.

She wanted him. Passionately. Unequivocally. Undeniably.

“Marine hero on Time magazine. He’s in first place,” she murmured, still visualizing his face.

There was no doubt in her mind that if she ever met the man with the haunting brown eyes—which had seemed to stare directly at her from the cover of the magazine—he’d be absolutely impossible to resist. He was larger than life, a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy man. A hero.

And now, the number-one guy on her Men Most Wanted list.

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day

THE REDHEAD WITH the camera was spying on him again.

Nick Walker glanced into his rearview mirror and saw the woman skulking around the corner of the church across the square. Every once in a while, she lifted the big camera that hung from one shoulder, swinging it in front of her face to snap off a shot of the trees. The birds. The sky. The church.

All of which was to hide her real photographic subject. Him.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head, wondering how long he could wait—and how far he could let her go—before his cover was blown. Not too much longer, that was for sure.

He hadn’t figured on going unnoticed when he’d started this undercover assignment a couple of days ago. Nobody dressed in his ratty clothes, with the shaggy beard, and two-days-past-needing-a-shower hair wouldn’t be looked at in old Savannah. Not to mention the car. It was a standard, city-issued, undercover P.O.S—Piece Of Shit—the color showing through the rust falling somewhere between puce and putrid.

But the cover was still a good one, considering the eclectic nature of the population in this area. There were just as likely to be panhandlers as millionaires moseying around some of the city’s famous squares. This getup was noticeable, but quickly forgotten by the busy residents who really didn’t want to think too much about how the “other half” lived.

So yeah, he’d been prepared for some attention. What he hadn’t expected was a frigging Nancy Drew out with her camera, snapping clandestine shots of a suspected bad guy and his license plate. She was about as clandestine as a tank.

“Lady, go home,” he pleaded softly, willing the woman to retreat into the building where she’d recently moved. The building where he was supposed to be conducting this stakeout.

That’d been the plan, anyway, which made the woman’s nosiness even more aggravating. His partner, Dex Delaney, was involved with the daughter of the building’s owner. Dex had felt sure his girlfriend, Rosemary, could arrange to let them use the building. It would have been perfect—discreet, vacant. An ideal place to stake out the first-floor apartment in the building across the street where a suspected drug trafficker resided.

Then, after Nick had grown in a beard and scavenged clothes from Goodwill, the ax had fallen. Rosemary’s father had refused, saying he’d rented the building to a family friend in need. Considering Rosemary’s social circles, the woman probably needed a place to stay so her mansion could be painted.

One thing he hadn’t needed was to have his stakeout made ten times tougher because of a rich woman’s whim. “Why the hell couldn’t she have moved in next month?” he muttered, still frustrated by the change in plans that had him sitting here on a sweltering ninety-five-degree day in a car that smelled like the last ninety-five men who’d been in it.

Sometimes he really didn’t like his job.

“But not often,” he admitted to himself.

Most times, he loved his job. Being a cop gave him more satisfaction than he’d ever dreamed of having in his civilian life. Funny, coming out of the marines four years ago, he hadn’t been sure what he’d do. Going back to his hometown had been impossible. College? A fantasy. He’d gotten used to being in action, to fighting and surviving. To nailing bad guys. On a big scale or on a small one, taking criminals out of commission was what he did best…he’d figured that out back when he wasn’t sure he’d ever give a damn about anything again.

Nick liked to think of it as weeding out the bullies. Pushers or terrorists, they were all the same. Narrow-minded. Violent. Caring nothing for anyone else. Just like any other loud, abusive, small-town bully trying to impose his will on everyone around him.

The one he’d grown up with, for instance.

So yeah, being a cop was a perfect fit. He’d never regretted his choice of careers. Except maybe a tiny bit on days like today. “Come on, Rupert, you punk, come visit Mr. Miller here so I can go home, shave and take a shower,” he said under his breath. Rupert was a low-level dealer. Miller was the big fish who brought in the shit that poisoned kids, ruined lives and sparked crime by addicts desperate to get one more high.

Nailing Miller would help a lot of people…which meant a lot to Nick. Because he’d discovered something else when he’d been fighting half a world away in a war-torn area foreign to anything he’d ever known: he was good at helping people who couldn’t help themselves. That was his talent, his calling.

He’d picked up that burden in Kosovo. And he’d never been able to put it back down.

“Hey, partner, you still awake?”

He slid down, trying not to let his head come in contact with the headrest. His personal ick-limit wouldn’t stand for it.

“I’m here,” he said softly into the small, handheld radio, keeping it concealed by his fingers. “Nancy Drew’s back on the beat, keeping the area safe from miscreants and jaywalkers.”

Dex laughed. He could. He was covering the back of the building. In the shade. In a newer car. With air-conditioning.

Nick was the rookie detective. So he got the P.O.S.

“You ever find out from Rosemary why this friend simply had to move in now?” he asked, his voice still low, his eyes constantly scanning the street.

“She’s an old friend of Rosie’s who’s starting a new photography business,” Dex said.

Hence the camera.

“Apparently she just came out of a really ugly divorce.”

“Wait…there’s a truck pulling up.” Nick lowered the radio, watching in his side mirror as a sizable U-Haul truck maneuvered up the street. It almost clipped a BMW and came damn close to taking out a street sign. As the truck passed, he casually glanced over and saw a small woman with curly light brown hair clutching the wheel as if she was a lion tamer holding a chair.

“No,” he bit out when the truck stopped. “Keep going.”

The radio crackled. “What is it?”

“Trouble. A big truck just pulled up in front of Rosemary’s father’s building and double-parked. It’s completely blocking my visual on the perp’s apartment. Not to mention traffic.”

“Want me to get a uniform out there to tell them to move?”

“Absolutely,” he said when he realized the driver was getting out of the truck. The woman called to someone. Somehow, Nick couldn’t muster up much surprise when he saw she was waving at the nosy photographer, who came jogging over.

That female was destined to be the bane of his existence this week.

He waited, tapping his fingers on the dash, watching the two women from behind his dark sunglasses. They stood beside the truck and talked for a while, looking upset. Finally the short, curly-haired driver pulled a cell phone out of her purse. Crossing the street to the shady square, she sat on a bench and started an animated phone conversation.

“No, you are not doing this,” he muttered, shaking his head as he observed the other one—the tall photographer—open the back of the truck and climb inside.

But she was doing it. As he watched in disbelief, she came staggering down the truck ramp carrying a double mattress. All he could see of her behind the mattress was two sandal-clad feet at the bottom, and two hands clutched on either side. Her oblivious friend was turned the other way, not even watching.

“Dammit.”

He looked at his watch. Tried again to peer around the truck. Wondered just how long it was going to take a beat cop to get his ass here and get the truck off the street. But most of all, he wondered what the heck the woman thought she was doing schlepping furniture all by herself on a hot summer day.

“Watch it, lady, you’re gonna fall,” he whispered when she reached the curb, which he thought she might not see.

Nope. She didn’t see it. Realizing what was going to happen, he called, “No!” and leaped out of his car. But it was too late. She tripped and fell forward. It was her extreme good fortune, however, that she landed right on her own mattress.

Before he could think better of it, Nick jogged the few yards over to her. “You okay?”

The woman was still lying there, facedown on the mattress in the middle of the sidewalk. She mumbled something but since her face was buried, he couldn’t make out what.

While waiting for her to move, he noted the richness of her thick hair, which, on closer inspection, was more auburn than true red. It was a warm shade, the color of vibrant earth after a rain. And he definitely noted her tall, curvy form, clad in tight jeans and a sleeveless white tank top.

If he’d thought she was really hurt, he might not have taken a second to appreciate the way she filled out those jeans. But she’d landed on something soft, and the view was definitely worth appreciating. Definitely. Hell, a saint would have looked, and no Walker had ever been accused of being a saint. A devil straight from hell was a more frequent expression.

Breathing deeply, he swallowed his libido back into his gut. “Ma’am? Do you need help getting up?” He cast a quick look to the side, noting that Miller’s blinds were closed tight. Hopefully he wasn’t sitting there in the darkness of his apartment, watching the world through his warped little drug-pushing eyes.

“I’m fine,” he heard as the woman pushed herself up to her knees, until she was on all fours right below him.

Lord have mercy.

Nick closed his eyes briefly, thrusting every low-down wicked Walker thought out of his head by sheer force of will. Trying to find the good manners his mama had tried so hard to teach him, he got hold of himself. When he opened his eyes again, the woman had risen to her feet. Thank God.

It took him less than a second to realize she was afraid of him. Though she jutted her chin out and kept her head up, she did step back. She obviously recognized him as the suspected pervert from the rust bucket parked at the curb around the corner.

He put his hands up, palms out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The tension in her body eased a bit, which gave Nick a chance to study her from behind his tinted sunglasses.

She was tall, and as nicely curved in the front as she was in the back. Though dark circles hinted of stress and her cheeks were a little pale—maybe even gaunt—her face didn’t suffer for it. In fact, she had a great face—wide mouth that would probably be beautiful when she smiled. Big old eyes that he figured were blue, but couldn’t tell for sure because of his glasses. Long lashes, creamy complexion, high cheekbones. Yes, indeed, his Nancy Drew was a pretty woman. Even if she was a busybody.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to get this done,” she said, her voice sounding shaky. As if she hadn’t completely accepted that he was merely a nice bystander wanting to help out. Considering how he looked, he couldn’t blame her.

Then she turned her back on him and bent over again—heaven help him for being a bad man—and tried picking up the mattress.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said, his throat tight.

“I’m stronger than I look.” Still bent over, she stared doubtfully at the building and added under her breath, “Though the stairs up to the third floor may be…difficult.”

“Third floor?” he snapped in disbelief.

“It’ll be fine,” she insisted, straightening up—without the mattress. “I’m just bringing a few things up there. Not much.”

He followed the airy hand she waved and looked into the truck. No, not much. Just a frigging box spring, dresser, small table, two chairs and a love seat. “You’re nuts. For God’s sake, wait for the movers.” Then, remembering he had a job to get back to, he added, “And you have to move this truck.”

She stiffened. “I don’t have any movers. Paige’s—my friend’s husband was supposed to be here, but he’s not.” Her voice rose a little and she stepped closer, as if she didn’t even realize it. “I have to empty that truck and return it before four o’clock or I’m going to owe Paige for another day’s rental.” Another step. Another flash of spirit. Another decibel and she was almost shouting. “And dammit, that truck is not going anywhere until I get this furniture into that building.”

Feisty. He liked that. He almost smiled, but figured she wouldn’t appreciate it.

Despite a little quiver in her bottom lip, and her initial fear of him, the woman was standing her ground. But that quiver, and a hint of moisture in her big eyes, made him suspect she was hanging on to her bravado by a thin thread. Remembering what Dex had started to say a few minutes ago, he realized this woman was probably moving out on her own for the first time after her…how had his partner described it? Ugly divorce. With nothing but a bed, a table and a few chairs.

His heart twisted, even while a voice in his head whispered, No, this is not your problem.

Damn. The last thing he needed was to worry about her, but he couldn’t help it. Despite being a better-than-average-height female, she had such a look of vulnerability. Particularly in that unsmiling mouth and those darkly circled eyes. Empty eyes. Frightened eyes, he’d say, if he didn’t already know she had guts, because of the way she’d been standing up to him.

Before he could decide what to do, a marked car pulled up behind the truck and a young beat cop Nick recognized from the station got out. Their eyes met for one second and the kid’s mouth quirked in a smile as he took in Nick’s getup.

“Someone’s going to have to move this truck,” he said as he approached them. “It’s blocking traffic.”

Nancy Drew’s friend finally realized what was going on and came running from across the street. “Wait, please, we’ll be so quick unloading it you won’t even know we were here.”

“I’m sorry, you have to get it out of here,” the cop said.

The pretty, sad-looking woman at the center of all of this blinked, looking back and forth between them. Then she wrapped her arms around herself, as if needing strength. Needing support.

Needing.

Nick mentally kicked himself. But even as his internal voice told him he was an idiot, he opened his mouth and surprised them all. “Officer,” he said, looking at the younger man, “between the two of us, we could empty this thing and have these ladies on their way within ten minutes. Don’t you think?”

The kid flinched, not expecting the response. With a slight shake of his head, Nick stopped any questions and got his point across. They were going to do this. If Miller looked out his window, he’d see a cop and a guy helping a lady move in. Not anything unusual in a Southern town known for its hospitality.

Dex might not agree, but Nick’s decision was made. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t understand it himself, really. But something inside him wouldn’t let this haunted-looking woman load her mattress back on that truck and drive away.

She needed help. And he was going to give it to her.

VANDALIZING A BILLBOARD to announce to the world that your husband was a cheating scumbag might not be the best way to save a marriage, but it was one hell of a way to end one.

Melody Tanner-Todd—now just Tanner again, thankfully—had discovered that when she’d sought retaliation against her bastard of an ex, who’d slept his way across Atlanta during their marriage. It had been hugely public, hugely satisfying and it had hugely entertained the city’s commuting population. It had also cost her nearly everything she owned.

“You mean he gets practically all your money just because you painted some graffiti on a billboard?” said Paige Winston—now Suffolk—sounding shocked and dismayed.

Rosemary and Tanya wore similar looks of disbelief, which probably matched the one that had been on Mel’s own face for the past two months—since the day a judge had given her ex most of what she had earned during nineteen years as a model and actress.

“This is unbelievable! The house? The boat? That cheating sack of shit gets it all? Gawd, I’m never getting married. Vibrators are just as good and they don’t come with six-foot-tall walking dicks attached.” Six years might have turned Tanya into a softer-looking, mature woman, but they hadn’t done anything to smooth out that ballsy attitude.

Melody had a flash of déjà vu. It’d been almost exactly six years ago that the four of them had been sitting in this same restaurant, with the same watchful owner, at this same table, drinking margaritas out of possibly these same glasses, on the night before her wedding. Her blissful, lovely, elegant wedding that was supposed to be the start of her perfect life.

The perfection had lasted about ten months. Until Melody had started hearing rumors that her devoted husband was devoted to anything with two parted legs. It had taken another three years for her to grasp the scope of Bill’s betrayals. But eventually she’d realized that her dentist husband was willing to drill absolutely any woman who opened wide.

“The judge agreed with his lawyer that I’d damaged his professional reputation,” Melody murmured, knowing the others were waiting to hear the rest of the story.

They’d heard bits and pieces, of course. Though they lived several hours away, her friends had been a great source of support—even with only their telephone calls—during the ugly, rancorous split-up. They’d wanted to come to see her, but Melody had put them off, not wanting them to know how bad it was.

Only Tanya, who was a flight attendant and visited Atlanta a lot anyway—and who would never take no for an answer—had ignored her request. She’d shown up at Mel’s door one day last May with a bottle of tequila and a big cheesecake. So she knew something about Melody’s disgrace. Just like Rosemary knew the most about her unhappiness. And Paige knew the most about her dreams for the future. But none of them knew the whole story.

“I know you’ve all been wanting to hear everything, but I needed a couple of weeks to pull myself together,” Melody said. “I only want to tell the story once. This is the first time all four of us have been together since I got back, so I guess tonight it’s time to let it all come out.”

Paige reached across the table and took her hand. Rosemary listened quietly, and Tanya gave her a nod of encouragement.

“So to start, yes, he got almost everything.” She squeezed Paige’s fingers. “You know, letting me borrow that furniture to camp out while Rosemary’s father had renovations done on the building was a godsend. I finally got the stuff the judge said I could take from the house, but up until a week ago, I wasn’t sure Bill would let me have even that without another battle.”

“I asked you to stay with me,” Rosemary said.

Rosemary’s frown emphasized some unusual dark smudges beneath her eyes, and Melody realized just how tired and pale her friend looked. She had to wonder what was up with Rosemary, who was usually very precise about her appearance.

“Or me,” Tanya added.

Yes, they’d all offered. But starting a new life on her own had meant just that. On her own. “I know, and thank you. But it was fine. Paige’s stuff was all I needed. Thanks again.”

Paige grinned. “You’re welcome. It was worth it—that cop looked cute carrying stuff up the stairs in his tight pants.”

Frankly, Melody had been too shaken by the scruffy, bearded stranger in the dingy jeans to pay much attention to the boyish policeman who’d helped them move furniture a couple of weeks ago. She still wondered about the man, who, she had to admit, had come to her aid at a time when she’d nearly been at the end of her rope. Odd, since she’d started out being afraid of him—wondering if Bill had hired someone to stalk her when she saw his car parked around the corner two days in a row.

When she’d actually spoken to him—after she’d so stupidly fallen on the mattress—she’d been taken aback by his smooth, sexy voice. There’d also been something nice about his lean jaw, even though it had been almost hidden by his scraggly beard.

Then there’d been his eyes. During one moment when he was helping carry a table up the stairs, his glasses had slid down briefly, allowing her a glimpse of his brown eyes. Nice. Very nice. She liked brown-eyed men. Maybe because Bill’s were green.

Melody had wondered once or twice what had happened to the dangerous-looking stranger who’d been so helpful. He must have accomplished whatever he’d been doing on her street, because she hadn’t seen him since that day.

Mel shrugged off her curiosity. “Anyway, like I said, Bill got almost everything.”

Sipping her sweet tea, Rosemary murmured, “I can’t believe this, sugar. These things don’t happen here in Georgia. All of my friends have lived like queens off their divorce settlements.”

“Atlanta’s not Savannah,” Melody replied. “Here, it’d be perfectly understandable for a wife to take retribution against a cheating husband by having that voodoo queen, Lula Mae Dupré, curse him. Or by breading his Southern-fried steak with rat droppings. But Atlanta’s different. More…”

“Northern,” Rosemary said with audible disdain.

“They said that, because I painted a billboard advertising Bill’s business, I hurt him professionally and damaged his ability to practice dentistry. Meaning, I owe him a living for the rest of his rotten life. And oh, how he loves to rub that in. Can you believe he had the balls to come visit me here? Just to throw it in my face one more time that he won.”

That was the hardest part to swallow. The man could live off her money for a long time. Meanwhile, Melody could be out of funds in as little as two months if she didn’t start working fast. Or if she didn’t sell her famous peacock-feather lingerie on eBay, which she’d seriously considered.

It’d serve Bill right, the bastard, since he’d tried to get that in the divorce settlement, too.

It shouldn’t get that bad. Thankfully, she had her photography hobby—as Bill had called it—to fall back on. She’d tried to pursue it after the wedding, always having a talent for instinctively knowing how to photograph something—or someone—to make a statement. But Bill had been less than supportive, almost petulant, saying she was wasting her time. Eventually it just hadn’t seemed worth the fight and she’d let it go.

Now, though, she had the chance to try again, to prove she was every bit as good behind the camera as she’d been in front of it. She’d already set up her new studio, right downstairs from the small apartment Rosemary’s family had rented to her in one of their historic district townhomes. The Chiltons had been wonderfully supportive; Rosemary’s brother even arranging for some renovations so she’d have a darkroom. She was all set to begin her new life in Savannah as a photographer.

And a single woman.

That was the silver lining in this whole thing. She was free. Free of everyone for the first time in her life. Free to choose what she wanted—not what her mother or her husband wanted for her. Melody intended to enjoy the hell out of her new life. Not as a kid model with the world watching her every move and a controlling mother on her back. Not the immature, desperate-to-be-wanted-for-herself young woman she’d been before she’d married Bill. Not the wife of an up-and-coming society dentist.

Just Melody. Free, independent and ready to live, back here in the only place she’d ever considered home, with the only people she’d ever considered family.

“So,” Paige said, “you never were clear on this. What exactly did you do, and how did Bill know you’d done it? People vandalize signs all the time. You should have denied it.” A few people looked over. Six years and a husband hadn’t done much to quiet Paige’s big voice. Or tame her big curls.

Nibbling her lip, Melody shook her head. A thick lock of reddish-brown hair fell across her eye, and she brushed it back, loving the way her new, shorter hairdo felt. She’d chopped half of it off to frame her face in chunky layers that barely touched her shoulders. Returning to her natural auburn color had been an extra perk—another up-yours to her ex. Bill had adored her long hair, which he’d talked her into dyeing blond again after the wedding.

So much for saying he wanted her for who she was, not the model the world knew. Within a month of their marriage, she’d looked just like the twit who’d gushed to Teen Magazine that what she most wanted was world peace.

World peace would be great. But right now, she’d settle for a five-figure balance in her money-market account.

“Mel?” Paige prompted. “Why did you admit you did it?”

“I couldn’t deny it when I was plastered all over the eleven-o’clock news standing up on the billboard platform with the paint can in my hand,” she said. “Not to mention that the fresh paint was the same Cherry Cordial I’d used to redo the guest room.”

“Cherry Cordial? Gosh, the room must have been so dark,” Paige said, immediately distracted.

“Hush up, I want to hear the rest,” Rosemary said as she tapped a long, pink-tinted nail on the table. “Now, honey, what was it you said that was so damaging to your lesser half?”

Rubbing her eyes wearily, Melody didn’t even look at her friends as she explained, “The billboard was directly over his building, by an exit ramp, so it was pretty high profile.”

High profile, indeed. God, she still couldn’t believe she’d been so damned furious at Bill that she’d climbed up a rickety scaffold ladder with a paint can in one hand and a thick paintbrush clasped tightly in her teeth.

Being honest with herself, she acknowledged that it hadn’t been just his cheating that had driven her to seek revenge. She’d gotten used to the infidelity. Her feelings for Bill had been dead for a long time—she’d just been biding her time, waiting for the opportune moment to hit him with divorce papers. Her lawyer had been looking into ways to separate their money first since she’d been too young and too stupid to demand a prenup.

In that instance, she should have listened to her mother.

She’d waited patiently, trusting her lawyer. But finding out who Bill had had that last fling with had sent her right out of her mind. Shaking her head, she murmured, “The billboard had this big giant picture of Bill, smiling his phony ‘you can count on me’ smile, with the caption ‘Trust Dr. Bill to Drill.’”

Tanya snickered at the cheesiness of it, as Melody had a few years ago when her husband had informed her of the slogan he planned to use in a new ad campaign.

“I wouldn’t trust him to clean my litter box,” Paige said. Then she smiled. “Did I tell you about my new cat? He’s so—”

“Shh!” Tanya hissed, silencing Paige. Never an easy feat.

“I had planned to wait him out—let him ruin himself,” Melody said. “But that day, I learned from one of our closest friends that Bill had seduced her eighteen-year-old daughter…a kid we’d bought Girl Scout cookies from a few years back. I sort of lost it. So I got what I needed and drove to his office.”

Around them, the cacophony of noise seemed to diminish, as if everyone were waiting for her to continue. A look confirmed a few eavesdroppers. But considering everyone in Atlanta had seen her swinging like a deranged monkey from a billboard, she’d pretty well used up her lifetime supply of embarrassment.

In a low, shaky voice, Paige asked, “What’d you do, Mel?”

Reaching for her glass, she admitted, “I added a few words to his slogan until it read, ‘You can Trust Dr. Bill to Drill…your wives, your daughters and certain barnyard animals.’”

A snort from the two women at the next table and the grin on the face of the owner—who’d been hovering over Melody since the minute she’d arrived—confirmed her wider audience. At her own table, her three friends made no effort to hide their laughter. “Oh, my goodness, I would have paid to see that,” Paige said, her face growing red as she giggled helplessly.

With a droll lift of her brow, Melody replied, “You could have, if you lived in Atlanta and happened to be watching the eleven-o’clock news that night. The Channel Six helicopter was flying to the scene of an accident and spotted me. They lit me up like a prisoner going over the wall and broadcast the image all over the airwaves for the entire city to see.”

Rosemary shook her head. “Ouch.”

“It gets better,” Tanya mumbled as she dipped a chip.

Yeah. It got better, in a sick, oh-God-can-you-believe-she-actually-did-that way. “I panicked,” Mel said flatly. “Dropped the evidence. Dashed for the ladder. Slipped in the spilled paint—which got all over me—and fell off the end of the platform. The Cherry Cordial should’ve been called Blood Red, because I looked like a monster out of a horror movie dangling up there. King Kong’s mutant baby or something.”

Beside her, Tanya tried to look sympathetic while also trying to hide a grin. Maybe someday Melody would laugh about it, too. Maybe when she was ninety and had managed to forget how stupid she must have looked on TV, hanging from the platform waiting for the firemen who’d rescued her with a ladder truck.

She had thought that was the most humiliating moment of her life, of all the humiliating moments she’d endured during her marriage to the prick with the drill. It’d been close. But it still couldn’t beat the day her divorce decree had come down.

“Oh, sugar, haven’t you heard?” Rosemary said, her lips curved in a smile. “Like Scarlett O’Hara used to say, ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold.’”

Paige frowned. “I thought Hannibal Lechter said that.”

Melody reached for a handful of tortilla chips, not caring how many calories were in each one. Without Bill frowning at her, she didn’t give a damn what she ate or how much weight she gained.

“I think,” Tanya interjected with a disgusted grunt, “it’s Klingon. Though I would have taken the Lechter approach.”

“I didn’t mind billboard vandalism, but I hadn’t reached the point where I wanted to kill my husband and eat his liver with some fava beans.” Melody ate a chip, then added, “So that’s the story. My life of crime and my fifteen minutes of fame.”

“You had a couple of decades of fame,” Paige reminded her.

Right. But no more. She was completely finished with all of that and intended to live life out of the spotlight from now on. Quiet, low-key, no scandals, no adventures.

“Do you have a copy of that news program?” Tanya asked, still looking amused. “You oughta keep it as a warning for any man you consider marrying in the future.”

“Ha-ha, I know, it’s all funny until a male judge who probably cheats on his wife, too, decided Bill’s reputation had been damaged for life and I owed him everything but my internal organs. Which will probably be awarded to him if I appeal.”

“But you are going to appeal, right?” Tanya suddenly sounded serious. They’d had this conversation before, and Melody knew her friend, the fighter, believed this situation could be fixed.

Mel wasn’t so sure. Not that she wouldn’t like her money back, or to at least make sure Bill didn’t get it. But she didn’t want to go back to her old life when she’d been the duped wife, the vengeful ex. Not to mention the target of Bill’s incessant anger and malicious threats.

He hadn’t liked being humiliated and her money apparently hadn’t eased the sting. He’s gone, she reminded herself, refusing to think of his visit to Savannah. Not to mention the heavy-breathing calls she’d received her first weeks in town…until she’d had her number changed. Long gone. And she was done with the past. It was time to find herself again. To stop looking back, to move on, focusing on the future.

Paige suddenly changed the subject. “Do you remember the last time we all came here? The night before Mel’s wedding?”

So much for not looking back. That’d lasted ten seconds.

“We were practically kids,” Tanya replied.

“Well, I happened to stumble across a souvenir from that night,” Paige said with a secretive smile. She reached into the duffel bag she’d been carrying when she’d arrived, and dug out a pad of paper. “Remember everything we talked about?”

It took Melody a moment to recall the entire evening, which seemed like the last truly happy one she’d had. Any happy ones she’d shared with Bill had been zapped out of her memory around year three of their marriage. But when Paige flipped open the notebook and turned it around to show the rest of them, she remembered. “Oh, our infamous Adultery Free Zone lists.”

“Right. We were going to go for it, no questions asked, no guilt, if we ever had the chance with one of these guys.”

“Well,” Rosemary said, “my go-for-it list is on my fridge. I’ve crossed off number five…that Atlanta Braves player? Met him at a New Year’s Eve party and we had sex in a coat closet as the ball was dropping.” Almost purring, she added, “Fortunately, he spent a lot more time going down than the ball did.”

Melody couldn’t help wondering if Rosemary would ever find one man who satisfied her as much as so many men did. “Uh, I thought the lists were a joke.”

“They were…until I met that Braves player.” Rosemary’s smile was definitely catlike. “Speaking of our lists, I’ve kept my copies of all of them. I even dug yours out, Mel, once I knew you were divorcing the dick with the drill and coming home.”

Grunting, Melody said, “Well, someone talking about me having sex is about as close to a sex life as I’ve had in a long time, so I guess I can’t gripe about it.”

The middle-aged owner with thinning dark hair walked by just in time for that comment; his speculative look made her grab for her margarita.

Tanya shuddered. “Quick, Paige, find Mel’s list. If there’s anybody who needs to get laid in this town, it’s her.”

Wrinkling her nose, Melody ignored her friend. But Paige had already started flipping through the notebook. “Oh, my,” she said. “Jonathan Rhodes…there’s a blast from the past.”

Glancing over her friend’s shoulder, Melody scooted her chair around to get a closer look. “Yikes. I forgot about him. He sure didn’t last long in Washington.”

“Probably only a bit longer than he lasted in the hooker’s bed,” Tanya said. “He didn’t even run for reelection after he got caught in that police raid at a sleazy hotel. He came back here to Savannah and returned to his law practice.”

Rosemary nodded, a speculative look in her eye. “Hmm…so he’s still around. A definite possibility, Mel.”

Melody shook her head. “Not happening. Even if the list was serious—which it’s not—I’m not interested in sex. I’m not feeling very charitable toward men right now.”

“Which is why you need to think like a man,” Rosemary said. “Go out and live a little, take what you can get. You might not have meant it the night we wrote these down, but you can mean it now.” Leaning forward, Rosemary continued almost fiercely, “Live, Mel. Get back to being the happy, confident girl you were that night and don’t let the bastard you married cause you one more minute of pain or self-doubt.”

Rosemary was the languid one, not the passionate one, so Melody was somewhat taken by surprise. It said a lot about how worried her friends were, which touched her. Deeply.

Knowing, however, that Rosemary was involved in a somewhat serious on-again, off-again romance, which she was keeping pretty close to her vest, Melody didn’t believe her friend was living by her own advice. But she had once. And it didn’t appear to have hurt her. So maybe…

No. She needed sex like a nun needed edible underwear.

Before Rosemary could keep arguing, Paige yelped, “Oh, yikes, this guy—number five—didn’t fare so well. Chef Charlie of Chez Jacques died about a month ago, in his own restaurant.”

“I heard he got drunk and choked on a meatball,” Tanya said. “Sounds like that man swallowed some dumb-ass pills first.”

“Creepy,” Paige said. Then she made the sign of the cross.

Tanya rolled her eyes. “You’re not Catholic.”

“It seemed appropriate.” In typical Paige fashion, she allowed herself to be completely distracted by a random thought. “Why do you think he was making meatballs? Isn’t Chez Jacques a French place? Do they serve meatballs? Is Charlie a French name?”

Tanya gave Paige an impatient glare. Then she pointed at the notebook. “Who else did Mel list?”

Yeah, who else? Melody had been so focused on her rocky marriage and horrible divorce for such a long time, she hadn’t thought about the list in ages. She didn’t even know where her originals were and had to read over Paige’s shoulder to remind herself who she’d once wanted so badly.

When her gaze fell on the name of a golfer who’d had a chance in the PGA some years ago, but had quickly fizzled out, she gasped.

“What?” Rosemary asked.

“You’re not going to believe this, but Kenny Traynor, that golfer who was supposedly gay? He was all over the news in Atlanta last month. He was killed in a weird accident in the locker room of the country club where he was a golf pro.”

They all fell silent as the reality sunk in. Two of the men Melody had joked about sleeping with had died since that night. Young men, healthy men. Paige was right…it was creepy.

Suddenly looking relieved, Paige smiled. “But number four—Drake Manning, the reporter—is still around. He’s an anchor on Channel Nine. And his hair hasn’t moved since you left.”

“He’s a pig,” Tanya said, her mouth tight.

Paige continued before Melody could question Tanya’s comment. “Now we come to number one, which was why I brought our lists. I saw this on eBay and had to get it for you.”

Reaching into her bag, Paige retrieved a plastic-wrapped magazine. Melody recognized it—and the picture on the cover—immediately. It was her marine, the one who’d saved the children. Her number-one fantasy man.

“You sure were drooling into your burrito when his picture came on the TV screen that night. Wasn’t she?” Paige said.

Tanya nodded. “Uh-huh! That boy was fine.”

Rosemary, for some reason, remained silent, just staring at the picture, a half smile on her lips. Melody couldn’t blame her. She was enraptured by the photo on the magazine, too. “Oh, my God, I hope I didn’t jinx this guy.”

“It would have made the news,” Paige said. “He was a Georgia hero. We would have heard if he hadn’t made it back.”

She prayed Paige was right. Because she’d hate to think of this particular man meeting some strange fate like the others.

The picture was every bit as dramatic—as compelling—as it had been that night six years ago. More so, really, since she was a woman now, not an immature girl, as she’d been when she got married. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the hunger.

The sudden flash of want surprised her. But it was there…strong, insistent. She was attracted to this stranger like she hadn’t been attracted to anyone in a long time.

“He looks familiar for some reason,” she murmured.

“Well, duh, of course he looks familiar,” Paige said. “You only lusted after him more than any guy you’d ever seen.”

“I know that. But there’s something else. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.” The little flash of intuition, recognition or memory disappeared as quickly as it had popped into her brain. “I wonder what happened to him after…”

“You have to go to the police.”

Shocked by Rosemary’s words, Melody just gaped. “Huh?”

“I mean it. Two out of five men on your list have died, both very recently. Both right here in Georgia, and under strange circumstances. We’re calling the police.”

Melody was shaking her head throughout Rosemary’s spiel. “That’s utterly ridiculous. This has nothing to do with me.”

Ignoring her, Rosemary reached for her cell phone. “I know someone on the Savannah PD.”

Though outwardly scoffing, a hint of concern did go through Melody’s mind. Still, she insisted, “I can’t do it. I’m not going to tell some cop that men I once wanted to have sex with are dropping like flies throughout the state of Georgia.”

“You sure won’t get a date that way,” Paige offered.

“Hush up, Paige,” Rosemary said. “Mel, I am not kidding. You just came through a divorce with a husband out for revenge.” Her eyes widened. “Bill knew about this list! I remember it came up during one of my visits to Atlanta a few years ago. He was joking about it, while you seemed to have forgotten the whole thing.”

She had almost forgotten about the list, which had at first been just a joke to her. Later, when it had become clear that her marriage had been an enormous mistake, the silly game had provided some fodder for late-night fantasies and dreams, but eventually, she’d stopped even dreaming. Fantasies, dreams and thoughts of her list had faded away…as had her marriage.

“Yeah, he knew,” she finally said. “He found all four of our lists in my purse during our honeymoon. We laughed about them and he even wrote out his own top five.”

Of course, Bill probably hadn’t been joking. She wouldn’t be surprised if the son of a bitch had crossed every name off his list before their fourth anniversary.

Don’t go there. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the bright, wide-open future with people who loved her. Not the gut-wrenching, humiliating past with people who’d been pitying her. Like all of her Atlanta friends, who had to have known about Bill’s affairs long before she did.

“That does it,” Rosemary said. “You’ve got to tell someone.”

By now, even skeptical Tanya was looking convinced, and Paige’s eyes were wide as she whispered, “Maybe she’s right.”

“I can’t tell a stranger that I sat down the night before my wedding and made a list of men I wanted to have sex with.”

Rosemary was already pushing buttons on her cell phone with the pointed tip of her nail. “You don’t have to go into that much detail, sugar. Just call it a little bridesmaid game. Men you’re attracted to—you don’t have to mention the adultery-free-zone part of it.” Then, before pushing the send button, she added, “This detective’s nice and discreet.” She glanced away, not meeting Mel’s eye. “He’s older. Kindly. Fatherly.”

Never having known for sure who—or where—her father was, Melody couldn’t take much comfort in that. “Rosemary…”

But before she could finish her sentence, she realized Rosemary was already talking in hushed tones to someone, her hand curved around the phone for privacy. A little late for that.

Outnumbered, confused and a teeny bit apprehensive, Melody realized she had no choice. Which was why, a minute later, she agreed to meet with Rosemary’s detective friend. Adamant about not barging into the police station, she at least got Rosemary to agree to set up an informal meeting in a public place.

It was ridiculous, of course. But she’d do it. At ten o’clock the next morning, at a diner on Abercorn Street not far from her own apartment, she’d meet with this detective, carefully tell him what she knew, hear him laugh, then forget about it.

Grabbing a pen, she jotted down the man’s name, writing it on the list Paige had torn out of the notebook. For evidence.

Yeesh. Her sexual-fantasy list possible evidence. How utterly embarrassing. She could only hope this Detective Walker was as nice and fatherly as Rosemary said he was.

And that he was very understanding.

CHAPTER TWO

“WAIT A MINUTE,” Nick Walker said, eyeing his partner on the Savannah-Chatham Metropolitan PD. “You’re telling me some woman thinks a chef who choked on a meatball while drunk was actually murdered? And that his death might have something to do with the death of a golf pro in Atlanta?”

Nick made no effort to keep the skepticism out of his voice as he stared across his desk at his partner. Dex didn’t flinch away from the pointed look and Nick sat back in his chair, sighing heavily. Because apparently his friend was serious.

The two of them sat in the bustling station on Habersham Street, getting ready to start another day filled with the promise of lots of crime. First up was investigating a robbery-homicide at a nearby antique store that had been filling the local media. The case had brought pressure on the whole precinct—they’d just come from a bitch-out meeting during which their lieutenant had threatened bodily injury if it wasn’t solved soon.

It was a typical weekday morning—already over eighty degrees and sweltering, with air that smelled like used motor oil and felt about as thick. The window air conditioner chugged lazily, managing to circulate a breeze that could only be described as cool by a recent refugee from hell.

At every other desk sat another member of the squad, making calls, writing reports, delaying the inevitable moment when they’d have to leave the building and venture out into the wicked September morning. Because, damn, it hurt to breathe out there. The heat wave gripping the city had lasted nine weeks now. Might be another month before it dropped below eighty.

He hated the heat and not only because his skin hadn’t felt dry since Memorial Day. The hotter it got—the stickier it got—the more people heated up and committed crimes. Quick to anger, slow to reason, the city had been on a low rolling boil all summer and September hadn’t seemed to evaporate any of the steam.

“I know it’s probably a long shot, but it’s worth a conversation, isn’t it?” Dex asked, his tone even, his voice reasonable. As usual. The guy was nearly impossible to rile, unlike Nick who, truth be told, hadn’t been too sure he’d ever make detective given his tendency to erupt every now and again. He thought he’d done a pretty good job escaping his badass teenage years, when he’d literally fought his way out of his family’s Walkers-are-all-no-good-drunks reputation with his fists. But that old Walker temper did kick up once in a while.

“You’re really serious about this?” Nick asked.

“I am. It’s a long shot, but maybe there is some kind of connection between these two cases.”

“The Chez Jacques death isn’t a case—it was ruled an accident. The investigation’s been closed for a month.”

“So this tip probably won’t go anywhere. But since you caught the original call, isn’t it worth a conversation?”

If the request had come from Draco, Jones or one of the others, he would have immediately suspected some kind of setup. A practical joke at the very least. A blind date at the worst.

As the youngest on the squad, the newest detective and one of the only two unmarried men on this floor—the other being his partner—he was the target of a lot of jokes. Not to mention a lot of schemes to get him as tied-around-the-balls as every other poor married sucker he worked with.

But this was Dex. Mr. Serious. The most straightforward, honest, no-nonsense guy in the building. And his partner.

Dex was also the only one in the building who knew that Nick had once been married. Briefly. Badly. To a woman who’d then sabotaged Nick’s relationship with his entire family, separating them for a decade with her lies. So Dex wouldn’t play some kind of setup game with him.

“I know how it sounds, but Rosemary swears it’s true.”

Nick grunted but said nothing against Rosemary. He still hadn’t quite forgiven her for the stakeout snafu a few weeks ago, when he’d nearly blown his cover trying to help some woman move her furniture.

Some woman. Yeah, she had been that.

For some reason, he hadn’t been able to put her completely out of his mind since. Occasionally he’d even considered cruising by her place, seeing how she was doing. Seeing if she had any more chairs she needed moved.

He hadn’t done it. Not only because he just wasn’t in the market to meet a woman right now, but also because she’d seemed so damned vulnerable. So hurt. So desolate.

The last thing she needed was a visit from a workaholic cop who’d deceived her about who he was on the day they’d met.

“Rosemary swears, huh?” he finally said, knowing Dex was waiting for an answer.

“Yeah. And you know how she is.”

Oh, yes, he knew. Frankly, Nick didn’t know how his friend had hooked up with the woman, who was the spoiled, pampered daughter of one of the former mayors of Savannah. Yeah, she was hot, and she managed to keep Dex a lot more on edge than any woman he’d ever dated—which seemed a good thing for someone as quiet and uninvolved as his partner. The differences in their financial situations were glaringly obvious, and Dex had made more than one comment about trying to keep up with Rosemary.

Besides being rich, she was flighty. Not to mention oversexed, bored and pretentious.

Dex was about as down-to-earth and unpretentious as they came, which was one reason he and Nick got along so well. Nick hated pretension. He had no patience for the old guard who hadn’t yet realized the Civil War was over and the grand and glorious days of plantation owners were mere textbook footnotes.

Coming from a white trash Georgia family in a small town in the northwest corner of the state, he’d never realized the elitist culture still existed elsewhere. Sure, Joyful had been full of the haves and the have-nots, like every other town—the Walkers definitely being on the have-not list. But until he’d started working to solve some of the crimes targeting the upper crust of this old, proud city, he hadn’t realized how far in the past some people seemed to live.

That was how Dex had met Rosemary. Somebody had robbed a pricey house she had listed with her real-estate agency.

“I told Rosemary you’d meet the woman today at ten.” After naming the location, Dex added, “You’ll know her by her red hat.”

Nick didn’t respond right away, merely studying his friend, watching for a shift of the eyes or a tiny grin that would say he was being had. He saw neither. Just stalwart, calm Dex. The nice, stoic, friendly side of their good-cop, bad-cop routine.

“Why, exactly, did Rosemary decide I was the person who had to meet with this mystery woman? Why not you?”

“She apparently doesn’t like Northerners.”

The explanation wouldn’t make a whole lot of sense in a lot of other places. But this was Savannah. Dex, who hailed from Pennsylvania, had never lost the clipped tone or flat accent that pegged him as someone from above the Mason-Dixon line. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d been eyed with suspicion by some spoiled wannabe Southern belle.

Nick disliked the woman already.

He gave it one more shot. “Last I checked, Rosemary didn’t exactly admire my tact with women.”

A half smile appeared on Dex’s face. “Only because you told that reporter doing a story on Rosie’s real-estate business that you’d rather go to bed with a cross-dressing, three-armed circus freak than ever go out with her again.”

He remembered.

“I think Rosemary’s changed her mind,” Dex said. “She never liked Angie Jacobs anyway and didn’t much care that Angie dropped the story once she found out you were a friend of ours.”

Just as well, because Angie was a piranha.

“Rosemary now thinks you might just have great instincts.”

“Until the next time she decides I’m a cretin because you have a beer with me instead of meeting her at some party where they serve bait on crackers and call it gourmet cook-in’.”

“Careful, your moonshiner background is showing.”

Rolling his eyes, Nick rose to his feet and tossed a file at Dex. “Make yourself useful while I’m chasing your girlfriend’s boogeymen. See if you can find anything on this plate. Could be connected to the break-in on Wright Square.”

He hadn’t really expected Dex to complain, and he didn’t. Instead, he gave Nick a relieved smile. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me many, especially for having to drive the P.O.S. during the Miller stakeout. But who’s counting?”

“Hey, we got him, didn’t we?”

That they had. They’d gotten him and the scumbag wouldn’t be putting his filth onto the streets of Savannah anytime soon.

Muttering under his breath about spoiled society brats with conspiracy complexes, Nick left the precinct and drove the short distance to the café. He could have walked the few blocks, but it was too hot and he was too irritated.

Dex had to have named the location for the meeting, which was the one good thing about this whole mess. Because this place sure knew how to serve biscuits and gravy.

“Red hat,” he reminded himself, shaking his head as he walked in the front door. “Just what I need, a red-hat lady.”

Once inside, he remembered another good thing about this restaurant. The air-conditioning worked a darn sight better than it did at the precinct. Or in his city-issued car.

Standing in the doorway and taking in a resigned breath, he looked around the place, which was decades old but still popular with locals and tourists. He kept his eye out for a red hat and blue hair. Because, really, if the woman was one of those red-hat ladies, she had to be at least one hundred and four.

No red hat. No big red feathers, or jewels or lace, like he’d seen on the more flamboyant headgear sold at the boutiques around here, which catered to the rich and to the tourists. Definitely not his shopping grounds. He felt much more at home at the Wal-Mart near his west Chatham apartment.

A few late-morning customers chatted at a couple of the tables in the front room, occasionally beckoning to a harried-looking waitress who carried a steaming pot of coffee. Two men sat at the counter, and another was paying at the cash register.

Skirting the edge of the place, he walked into the second room, where a dozen more tables took up nearly all the available floor space. Several of the tables were occupied, but only one had a person sitting completely alone. And that person, he realized, was wearing a baseball cap. A red baseball cap.

So maybe she’s only ninety.

Unfortunately, the woman sat below a stained-glass window depicting the most overutilized image in all of Savannah—the Bird Girl statue that’d been on the cover of The Book…Midnight In The Garden of Good And Evil. Nick could happily live the rest of his life without seeing another book, window, magnet, bookmark, T-shirt, mug, poster or postcard with that particular picture. But it’d never happen, not unless he moved away from Savannah. It was as intrinsic to this city as the Gordon Low house, where giddy, giggling Girl Scouts flocked by the thousands to worship their founder.

Pulling his attention off the window, he peered around the few customers and waitresses, staring at the woman in the cap. He noted a pair of tanned shoulders, exposed by the sleeveless blue tank top the woman wore. And, of course, the cap, with a short, dark-colored ponytail sticking out the opening in the back, looking too damn bouncy and jaunty in this wilting heat.

Reminding himself that Dex would never send him on a wild-goose chase when they were working a case, he made his way down the narrow aisle, nodding to the waitress. The busy woman paused to stare back and give him a once-over.

Nick didn’t necessarily like the attention he got from women—particularly because of the bullshit he caught about it from the other guys in the squad. But, on occasion, it came in handy. Like now. Because with one quick smile and a hand gesture, he had the woman promising to be right over with a fresh pot. If history was any indication, he’d have a cup of coffee within twenty seconds of sitting down.

Moving toward the woman he was to meet, he continued to study her without her knowledge. Each step that brought him closer to his target seemed slower than the one before. Because the more he saw, the more suspicious he became.

Her shoulders weren’t merely tanned and soft looking against the pale blue shirt. They were also toned. Curved. Leading to long, slim arms. Definitely young looking.

She moved one of those arms, reaching to adjust her ball cap. Her movements were graceful. Fluid. They drew his eyes to the thick dark hair, a rich, reddish-brown. A familiar reddish-brown. “My, oh my,” he whispered.

It was her. He knew it as sure as he knew the way the sun winked orange and purple as it went down over the horizon. Sitting in front of him was the woman he’d helped a few weeks ago. The one who’d fallen on the mattress the day he’d nailed Manny Miller, the drug trafficker.

Nick’s heartbeat kicked up a notch as a nearly unfamiliar sensation crawled through his veins. Interest. It was as unexpected as it was exciting, and for some reason the quiet, stale morning suddenly seemed ripe with expectation.

He’d been thinking about her for weeks. And fate, or Rosemary Chilton, had given him another chance to meet her.

Suddenly the woman looked to the side, her attention drawn by a passing busboy. The movement gave him a glimpse of her profile. Long enough to confirm her identity by the full lips, the stubborn curve of her chin, the sweep of her long lashes.

More importantly, it was long enough to see the absence of those shadows beneath her eyes. And to notice that her face had filled out, looking less gaunt, less distressed. More beautiful.

The cop in him analyzed her features and noted the changes.

The man in him took a much more carnal inventory.

Setup or not…he wanted her with a rush of attraction so completely overwhelming it turned his feet into lead weights until he couldn’t take another step. He just stood there, a foot behind her, staring down at the top of her head.

Then she turned around again, as if aware of his presence. Slowly tilting her head back, she peered up from beneath the rim of her baseball cap, looking at him with those big baby blues.

He paused, studying her head-on. The glimpses he’d had of her as he’d made his way through the diner had only provided tantalizing clues. Now, under the full-frontal assault of that face, those wide eyes, that sexy mouth—now parted in surprise as she returned his stare—he realized he was already in deep.

He’d been attracted to her weeks ago. But now that the sadness seemed to be gone from her eyes, his attraction took a big leap forward. He wanted her. Sex with this woman instantly became number two on his list of personal goals for the year. Right after saving enough money to put a down payment on a house, but before getting his mutt Fredo to stop chewing his shoes.

“I think I’m supposed to be meeting you,” he murmured. He stepped closer until his thigh touched the edge of her table, coming very close to her hands, which were flat on the surface. “I’m Detective Walker.” He gave her a little smile, just to put her at ease since she still had that deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. Then, with an exaggerated shrug, he added, “You’re the only person here wearing a red hat.”

Still nothing. Nada. Not one word, not one gesture. Not a smile. Certainly not a phone number and an invitation, which were, to be honest, the words he’d really like to hear coming out of her incredible mouth. But she merely sat there, frozen.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?”

And finally…finally…she blinked. Her mouth snapped shut. Her jaw visibly tensed. On the table, her hands curled into fists, as if she were suddenly feeling violent.

When she spoke, he realized she was feeling violent. Because in a low, shaking voice, she said, “You’d better arrest me, because I swear to God, the minute I find Rosemary Chilton, I’m going to murder her.”

UNLESS ROSEMARY HAD gone into the witness-protection program last night after she’d set up this outrageous meeting, she was dead meat. Because Melody was going to track her down and kill her for this. After she tortured her by throwing her entire collection of Manolo Blahniks into the Savannah River.

She’d been set up. Completely, totally, shockingly blindsided…by one of her best friends. She hadn’t felt this taken for a ride since her divorce hearing.

It was humiliating enough to tell a cop that people might be getting killed because of a sex list she’d made as a joke six years ago. That was when she’d figured she’d be talking to some cuddly Father Bear of a cop.

This guy was no Father Bear. And cuddling was the last thing a woman would want to do if she got him into bed. Because Detective Walker was him. Her ultimate fantasy. Her marine from Time magazine. And oh, God, was he to die for.

“Why do I get the feeling we’ve been set up?” he asked, lifting one corner of his wide, drool-worthy mouth in a smile.

Melody had to swallow, not yet able to answer. Her throat was tight, her voice having dried up when she’d made the mistake of glancing at his jean-clad hips, mere inches from her arm.

Soft, slouchy, threadbare jeans were made for bodies like these. Made to ride low on lean hips, to bulge in the most interesting places, and to hug long, hard legs.

She jerked her attention up, trying to focus on his face. That move was just as bad…and every bit as dangerous. Because his face—those eyes, that intensity—had been what had drawn her to him the first time she’d seen him six years ago. And they hadn’t changed a bit. She wondered if he was the real reason she’d always had a thing for dark-eyed men, up to this very day.

“You do think we’ve been set up, right?” he asked, obviously trying to pry her out of her silence.

“Yeah. Definitely a setup,” she finally muttered, already wondering if he’d chase her down and arrest her if she got up and ran for the door. They always arrested people who took off from the police on the TV cop shows. But only after patting them down.

Oh, Lord, she was better off sitting here with her face turning twenty shades of red and her butt feeling as if it were superglued to the chair than being patted down by this man. Being touched by him at all would be like throwing a lit match on a box of Fourth of July firecrackers. She’d start sparking and popping and two seconds later she’d be on the man like an actor on an Oscar statue.

“Can I sit down anyway?” he asked.

He didn’t wait for permission. He simply moved to the other side of the table and slid into the seat, facing her.

Facing. Goodness gracious, his face. The handsomeness she’d imagined behind the blood and grime in the magazine photo hadn’t come close to the reality. His face was lean, his cheeks closely shaven, emphasizing the strength of his jaw. His lose-yourself-in-them eyes were the color of rich chocolate. He had a strong nose, and a mouth she wanted to suck on like a lollipop.

The body simply defied description. From the broad shoulders clad in a tight black T-shirt, to the thick arms bulging with muscle, the man personified strength. His chest was impossibly broad and she’d already gotten a load of what he could do for a pair of aged jeans. Delightful things. Sinful things.

Somehow, it seemed impossible that he should look exactly the same. Just as big. Just as masculine. Just as intense and brooding, but God, so incredibly sexy.

He somehow seemed to have been plucked out of the field of battle and dropped right here into civilized Savannah, but hadn’t quite caught up with his change of venue. Because he looked dangerous. From the thick, dark head of hair to the glitter in his eyes, to the coiled strength of his body, held so tight and aware, he screamed danger.

“My first name’s Nick,” he said, breaking the silence.

Nick Walker. A good name. A strong name. Definitely not a cuddly, fatherly name. Rosemary, you demon.

“And you are?”

“Call me Mel,” she mumbled.

So, there was the introduction. What happened next depended on how single he was and whether Melody decided her list was more than just a joke, like Rosemary had.

Of course, she didn’t even know if he’d want to have wild, passionate, completely unexpected sex with her. She didn’t know if she’d want to.

Liar.

“So, what story did Rosemary use to get you here?” His voice was low, gravelly almost, but in a few drawn-out syllables there was an unmistakable Southern softness. A bit of twang that she liked a lot. And, she had to acknowledge, she didn’t like only the soft lilt in his voice, she also liked the way his mouth moved with every word he spoke. “I figure she made up some excuse for you to come down here and meet with a complete stranger.”

Before Melody could reply, the waitress appeared beside their table with a mug and a steaming pot of coffee. She quickly served the newcomer, giving him a warm look. Mel waved her fingers toward her own nearly empty, rapidly cooling cup, but was totally ignored by the woman.

For some reason, the smile on Nick Walker’s face after the waitress breezed away without a single glance at Melody really annoyed her. Cocky. He was cocky. She hadn’t seen that in his picture, though she shouldn’t be surprised. A man as handsome and as obviously brave would have a lot to be cocky about, right?

But she didn’t like it…she’d never liked arrogant men. Which was good. Because she needed to find things she didn’t like about this man, and fast. She could start by amending the rules of the list, by adding a cocky out-clause. Otherwise, she could end up making a fool of herself by oh, say, asking him if he wanted to retreat to the nearest hotel.

He stirred his coffee. “Judging by the look in your eye, I’d say Rosemary told you who I really am.”

Melody closed her eyes and counted to three, clenching her fingers together in her lap. The man knew she knew he was the Time magazine hero. Meaning Rosemary had to have told him. But please, oh, please, God, she couldn’t have told him about the list. She wouldn’t have, right? Rosemary was her best friend. She wouldn’t have.

If she had, Mel was going to die. Collapse right across the table and land face-first in his nice, hot, steaming cup of coffee and die.

“I guess we didn’t get off to the best start, huh?”

“I’ve always thought it was the finish that mattered,” she mumbled before she thought better of it.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already.” With a boyish smile that suited the way a thick, dark lock of his hair fell over his brow, he added, “Can I confess I’m surprised you came anyway, despite my, uh, disreputable appearance the first time around?”

“Disreputable?” Shock made her eyes widen. “No, you weren’t disreputable looking at all.” Heroic, admirable, determined and courageous were more like it. How could he possibly think a little dirt and some blood would make him look disreputable when he’d been holding three children whose lives he’d just saved?

“Not at all,” she repeated, not wanting him to think he had reason to be embarrassed. Lord, there went the whole cocky out-clause, because the man obviously had no idea how amazing that picture had really been. Or how it had affected her.

“You do know who I am, right?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. Sure. I mean…who doesn’t?”

His brow shot up in surprise and his head tilted to one side. “Really? You think I’m that easily recognizable?”

The man had been the hunk of the known universe six years ago on the cover of one of the most widely circulated magazines in the world. Of course he was recognizable! “Hate to break it to you, but yes, you are.”

Her answer didn’t seem to make him feel any better. He rubbed a hand across his smooth jaw and muttered, “I must be losing my touch.”

Goodness, he really was feeling bad about that. As if he wasn’t happy being recognized as a national hero.

And suddenly, she thought she understood. Hadn’t she hated being recognized for one photograph that didn’t represent the real person she was inside? The journalist who’d taken this man’s picture and circulated it around the world had caught only one moment, one selfless act. There was a lot more man here to be seen. A lot more man.

Like there was a lot more woman to Melody than was revealed in that horrid peacock-feather ensemble. Not physically, since almost all of her body had been revealed. But emotionally.

“I think I understand,” she said, wanting to comfort him, to let him know he really wasn’t alone in what he was feeling. “We all project an image for the world to see. It can be a little disconcerting when someone sees the person behind the mask.”

“Or the person beneath the dirty clothes,” he said with a rueful laugh. “For the record, I do bathe regularly.”

Huh? He was embarrassed because he hadn’t been able to bathe in the middle of a war-ravaged battlefield? Good Lord, her first instincts had been way off base. Far from being cocky, this man had hardly any self-confidence at all!

“You really don’t have to make any excuses to me, Nick.” Almost unable to help it, she reached across the table and touched the back of his hand. She’d meant to be consoling, comforting. That would have seemed strange if she were reaching out to the big, strong, larger-than-life man who’d been on the cover of the magazine. But she was reaching out to the nice, low-confidence guy she’d been speaking with.

Somehow, though, she realized that the big, sexy stranger was the one she was touching the moment their hands connected. Because as soon as her fingers brushed against his skin, something snapped and sparked a reaction, surprising her. She suddenly got all hot and flustered, though the room was cool enough.

He was so warm, that was it. The electric warmth of his skin had just taken her by surprise. But his next move nearly made her come right out of her seat. He turned his hand a bit, so he could scrape the tip of one finger on the fleshy pad of her palm, and the touch was so unexpected, so…personal, somehow, that she could barely remember to breathe.

She finally pulled her hand away, reaching for her water glass in a stall for time. After swallowing, she admitted, “You should never make excuses for doing something heroic. Something wonderful. You stepped in and helped when others wouldn’t.”

Looking at him, she noticed the confused expression on his face. As if he couldn’t quite figure her out. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“Yes it was a big deal.” Hadn’t the whole world thought so?

“I mean, it wasn’t like it was that heavy a load.”

Three small children might not have weighed a lot in terms of pounds, but the responsibility for them must have been an enormous weight. “I don’t agree with you there.”

He sipped his coffee. “I’ve lifted more at the gym.”

“Well, of course you have,” she said, “but nothing that was so important. So critical.”

He frowned and his jaw tightened. Suddenly he looked more the dangerous marine and less the guy-next-door. “It really was that critical? Was it all you had?”

She didn’t follow.

“I mean, I don’t know the whole story, but did you really end up with nothing but a couple of mattresses and some chairs?”

Now she was completely lost. “What?”

He put his hands up, palms out. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business.”

The hands-off gesture seemed familiar. It tugged something in her memory, but she was too focused on his odd words. Was he talking about furniture, when she was talking about orphans?

Suddenly he laughed. “I guess it’s a good thing you started out with the mattress. I don’t think that box spring would have been as comfortable to land on face-first.”

“The mattress…”

The word dying on her lips, Melody froze. In a second everything clicked into place. Somehow managing to keep her mouth from falling open in utter shock, she stared at him, finally seeing what she should have seen the minute he’d sat down.

Add a rough beard and some dark glasses, mess up his hair and throw him in filthy clothes, and he became the stranger from the street. The one who’d kept the cop from towing her truck. Who’d hauled her furniture up several flights of stairs. Who’d stepped in when she’d been ready to collapse in exhaustion and fear that Bill was never going to let her get on with her life, since he’d come to harass her in Savannah that very morning.

“Um, will you excuse me for a minute?” she mumbled, already rising to her feet. Without waiting for his answer, she beelined straight to the ladies’ room, went inside and locked the door behind her. Leaning her forehead against the doorjamb, she sucked in a few deep breaths and took it all in.

The guy she’d wanted so desperately at first sight all those years ago wasn’t simply a gorgeous fighting man, not just a war hero. No, he was also her personal one. At least, the closest thing to a hero she’d had in her life lately.

Then something else dawned on her. “He doesn’t know,” she whispered. He thought she recognized him from the day he’d helped her move in. Not from his brief bout of celebrity six years ago. He had no idea she’d recognized him from his famous photo. Which meant, if God was kind, he had no idea about the list.

So maybe Rosemary was going to survive the week after all.

“ROSEMARY, WHAT DID YOU get me mixed up in?”

Rosemary Chilton smiled at the sound of Dex’s voice, her body going warm and soft. She always had that reaction when it came to this man who’d come out of nowhere and changed her world a year ago. “Well, hello to you, too, Detective Delaney.”

“Nick just called.”

“Really?” Rosemary murmured. “And how is his day going? As fine as mine? What about yours…you feelin’ okay after your, um, hard workout on Sunday?”

He cleared his throat. “This isn’t a social call.”

Rosemary leaned back in her chair, swiveling it around to look out her blinds into the back garden behind her house. A beautiful, sunny day from this angle. If only it were about twenty degrees cooler, she’d love to be rolling around in that thick green grass with Dex the way she’d been rolling around in her bed with him for much of the previous weekend.

“Rosemary, tell me what you did this morning.”

“Well,” she murmured, her tone sultry, “I got up and took a long shower. I rubbed a soft sponge all over my body. It was real soapy, with that lilac-scented soap you like to smell on my skin. And I noticed these red marks on the inside of my thighs…I think they’ve been there since Sunday, when you, um, decided to put maple syrup on more than your pancakes.”

Those were lies. Actually, she’d slept late and had woken up feeling like the inside of a dog’s mouth. She just wasn’t used to late nights with girlfriends anymore. Either that or she was getting old. Because she was having a really hard time getting motivated to do much of anything today.

She practically heard his face pull into a frown. “You’re not going to distract me.”

“I’d like to,” she purred, knowing that in spite of his stiff tone, Dex liked it when she played sexy games with him.

“Stop it. Did you send Nick on a wild-goose chase?”

“Wild-goose chase?” She laughed softly. “Oh, no, honey, I sent him on a fantasy quest.”

Dex was silent for a moment, that heavy, disapproving silence he could use to leave her squirming like a naughty girl.

Hmm…sounded like that could be fun some night.

Knowing she couldn’t tease her way out of this one, she admitted, “I sent him to meet my friend Melody.”

“I know. He called me and told me she’s disappeared into the ladies’ room, obviously pretty upset.”

Rosemary frowned, though she wasn’t really surprised. Melody had run out on her fantasy guy, obviously unable to get past her shock to grab the chance she was being offered. Hopefully her friend wasn’t too mad. Though she knew Melody would probably be a bit embarrassed, Rosemary had figured the excitement of coming face-to-face with her hunky hero would make her forget all that.

Oh, honey, give yourself a chance.

God, she hated the way Melody had come out of her six-year stint in hell. If she could get her hands around Bill Todd’s throat, she’d cheerfully strangle the man for crushing her best friend’s spirit, leaving her unsure of herself and so unhappy.

“How did Nick sound when he called?” she had to ask.

“I dunno…anxious? A little confused.”

“Interested?”

Dex sighed, knowing better than to try to keep it from her. “Yeah. I’d say he was interested.”

Excellent. She’d known he would be.

Hopefully Mel would get over her cold feet, because Nick was exactly the man to warm them up. If Rosemary hadn’t met and fallen for Dex first, she might have considered giving Mel a serious run for her money for the Time magazine hero. But she had met Dex first. And wow had she fallen…for the first time in her life.

Besides, deep down, she knew she wouldn’t have stabbed Melody in the back by stealing her number-one guy. Not that she’d even realized he was her number-one guy at first. When she’d first met Dex’s partner, Rosemary hadn’t recognized him right away. It wasn’t until Dex mentioned that his new partner had been a fifteen-minutes-of-fame war hero that she’d begun getting the whole picture. That had been right around the time Melody had been talking about coming back to Savannah after her divorce.

It had seemed like an omen.

But it wasn’t going to go anywhere if Mel didn’t have the guts to go after what she’d always wanted. Self-confidence was among the things her bastard of an ex had stolen from her, along with her money. When she closed her eyes, Rosemary could still hear the raw pain that had been in her best friend’s voice over the past year, when Melody had let her rotten marriage undermine her belief in herself as a woman. She needed that confidence back. And a hot man was a good place to start getting it.

As for whether Nick would go for it? Well, he was…unpredictable. She had the feeling, however, that he was going to like Melody Tanner just fine. That the two of them were somehow meant to come together. Figuratively and literally.

Rosemary was a superstitious woman—most people born and raised in Savannah were. So she fully believed in fate. And it seemed like fate had fixed this up. That Melody had seen Nick’s face that night and fantasized about him for a long time for a reason. That a house Rosemary had been brokering had been robbed, requiring her to call the police—which was how she’d met Dex—for a reason. And that Nick had become Dex’s new partner for a reason. That her sweet friend was gullible enough to believe in the plausibility of a cockamamie murder idea for a reason.

Fate. Who was she to argue with it? And if she had to nudge it along a little by concocting murder plots? Well, so be it.

“Don’t be mad, sugar,” she told Dex. “Nick’s not gonna be.”

He quickly figured out what she’d done. “Your friend Melody, is she one of the ones who did those silly lists with you? The one you wave at me when you don’t get your way?”

She chuckled because there was no real anger in his voice. The man did react so nicely when she teased him to try to make him jealous. Telling him about her sexual-fantasy list last winter had inspired a delightfully powerful reaction. That night had been one of the sexiest she’d ever experienced. “Uh-huh.”

“And Nick’s name is on hers?”

“Right again.”

Dex tsked into the phone. “When are you going to learn to stop meddling? She’s not going to thank you for embarrassing her.”

Not now, maybe. But someday she would. Rosemary was absolutely sure of it.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN MELODY FELT she’d pulled herself together as much as she was able, she emerged from the ladies’ room and returned to the table in the café. Nick was watching her closely, his expression serious. “Are you all right?” he asked when she sat down.

Oh, great. She’d been in the ladies’ room having a meltdown, and he’d been sitting here thinking she was throwing up. Lovely.

“I’m fine.”

As for whether or not she was really okay? No, she wasn’t. She was losing it. She’d been spinning whimsical fantasies in her mind about this poor, wonderful, wounded soldier she’d met this morning, when, in reality, he’d been dressed like a criminal, hanging around doing heaven-knows-what in her neighborhood.

The possibilities had filled her mind during her time-out in the bathroom. She’d gotten past his hero qualities enough to wonder what the heck he’d been doing that day. Who he really was…a real cop? Or had that been another one of Rosemary’s embellishments. “Why were you parked by my building that week?” Keeping her anger—and her concern—in check, she leaned in. “Did my ex-husband hire you to spy on me? Is that why you were in a disguise? Are you one of those detectives…guys who get a badge off the Internet then go out and spy on people?”

It was his turn to look shocked, even a little indignant. “No, of course not. It had nothing to do with you.”

“So what did it have to do with?”

He leaned in over the table, as well, until their faces were only a few inches apart, right above their cups. His coffee was hot, steamy and fragrant, recently freshened up. Her cup was still empty. She could have hit him just for that.

“I’m with the Savannah-Chatham PD’s Crime Investigation Unit. Didn’t Rosemary tell you why I was undercover? Didn’t you hear about your neighbor, the drug importer?”

A real undercover cop. And she had heard something about an arrest near her home. The relief flooding through her couldn’t be denied. “I’m sorry.” She tugged her ball cap off her head and tossed it onto the table, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. “I didn’t know for sure who you were.”

“So who did you think I was when we were talking a few minutes ago?”

She sighed, wondering what to say. About him, the list, his fifteen minutes of fame. Before she had to decide, he spoke again.

“It’s okay, I think I get it. Rosemary spun some kind of story to get you here, right?” He shook his head. “That woman sure loves to pull people’s strings, doesn’t she?”

Melody seized on the explanation. “Rosemary. Yes, of course.” Forcing a laugh, she added, “She is rather outrageous.”

“How do you know her?” he asked. Waiting for her to respond, he leaned back in his chair, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing one foot over the other.

Those long legs. Those big feet. Which instantly had her trying to remember what they said about big feet.

Then he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Those thick arms. Those big hands. Which also got her wondering about the whole big-hands, long-fingers thing.

God, she had to get out of here. Because now he was even more dangerous to her peace of mind than he’d been before, when she’d thought he was just the guy from her list.

Now he was the guy who’d helped her move into her new place. The one who’d risked his own undercover assignment, somehow seeing the desperation Melody had thought she’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding, and helped her when she was most in need.

He was gorgeous. He was sexy. He was a hero. And she was in way over her head.

Because even if she did something unthinkable, like go for it with a man she’d once named on a list, he wouldn’t be one she could do it with. Nick wasn’t the kind of man a woman could have and then forget. He was completely unforgettable; she knew that already after their two brief interactions. Which kind of defeated the purpose of the list, didn’t it? Joke or no joke.

“You still breathing over there?” he asked, a teasing look in his twinkling brown eyes.

Before she could respond, the waitress came over to their table. “He took the dregs, and said to get you a nice fresh pot,” the woman said, giving Melody an impersonal smile.

Oh, no. He’d done something kind again. Something thoughtful. She really needed him to stop doing that if she was going to be able to maintain any willpower at all around the man.

Once the waitress had filled her cup and left, Mel answered Nick’s question. “Rosemary and I met as kids. She and Paige, the woman who was helping me move in that day, were my best friends from fourth grade on.” She smiled, remembering how it had felt to have a normal kid life for the first time. “Then Tanya burst into our lives. A strong-willed, feisty black girl who had no idea the kind of crap that could go on in the genteel South. The three of us rallied around her because some of the stuck-up white kids in our private school were so rotten to her.”

“Rosemary wasn’t one of them?” He sounded skeptical.

“Rosemary’s spoiled and is from a rich Southern family, but she’s definitely not a racist.” Chuckling, she added, “The two of them love to harass each other. They’re a riot when the one-liners start flying—the pampered Southern belle and the tough, proud, African-American woman. They are a perfect foil to each other. I guess, when you think about it, all of us complemented one another pretty well, which is why we got along from day one.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “So are you like Rosemary? A real-live Southern belle?”

“I was born in Florida. My mother and I moved here when I was ten and we rented a place in this area.”

She didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to know that they’d moved to Savannah precisely so her mother could play Southern belle. Or that the place they’d rented had been a gorgeous estate a few blocks from the river. Or that the money Melody had been making as the most popular kid on just about every TV commercial on the air and almost every kiddie show on PBS had paid for it.

That was all on a need-to-know basis. And this man didn’t need to know anything more than the three spots on Melody’s body that could give her an almost-instant orgasm.

In five-and-a-half years of marriage, Bill had found one of them. Sort of. But she’d bet this guy could zone in on all three in under five minutes if they ever got naked.

It’s not happening. The list was a joke!

“You’re not a native,” he said. “Me neither.”

“You’re not from Georgia?” she asked, surprised since that’s about all she’d ever known about her Time magazine hero.

“Yeah, but not here. I moved here after high school. I’m from the northwest part of the state, a place called Joyful.”

Joyful, Georgia. “Sounds quaint and sweet, like a picture-postcard small town.”

“It’s hell with white picket fences,” he replied matter-of-factly, indicating that subject was closed. “Now, come on, tell me. How’d Rosemary get you here?” he asked. “And why?”

Uh-uh. No way was she going into detail on either of those questions. “Doesn’t matter. She was obviously playing a joke on both of us, so I think I’ll get my check and go.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not so fast. I think it does matter. She got me here with some story about you knowing of a link between a murder in Atlanta and the death of a local restaurant owner.”

Though her heart skipped a beat, Melody managed to keep her expression serene. “Really? How strange.”

He stared for a moment, then slowly asked, “So you’re saying you don’t know anything about the death of Charles Pulowski in the kitchen of his own restaurant?”

She gaped. “Pulowski? His last name was Pulowski? And he owned a restaurant named Chez Jacques?”

“So you do know him.”

Shaking her head, she said, “No, but I’ve heard of him. I lived on his chocolate volcano cake during finals in college.”

He didn’t react at all. Some men would have made a comment about the cake not hurting her figure. Some women might have been fishing for such a comment. But he wasn’t such a man. And she wasn’t even going to think about whether she was such a woman.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Detective Walker murmured, his voice steady, that soft drawl low and warm but strictly business…as if he wasn’t the least bit distracted by any thoughts of her appearance.

This man was so different from most of the men she met. So completely the opposite of her ex-husband, whose smooth delivery back when they were dating had made his incessant compliments and comments about her looks seem almost charming, instead of piggish. Now she knew better.

Detective Walker seemed to have flipped a switch. From self-deprecating charmer when he’d arrived, to no-nonsense cop now.

His current disinterest was…unsettling. Not that she was drop-dead gorgeous or anything. She’d always been more of a fresh-faced, wholesome, big-smile model rather than a classically beautiful one…which was why the Luscious Lingerie thing had been such a fluke. And an embarrassment.

She’d put on a few pounds after she’d quit modeling. And she’d eaten her way through her divorce, needing to sample every form of chocolate ever invented. So she was nowhere near her size-four model days. Several sizes from it, in fact.

But she still turned heads on occasion when she made the effort. Then again, she hadn’t made much of an effort this morning, doing nothing more than yanking her hair into a ponytail and scraping some lipstick across her lips. So maybe that explained it. Mental note: start making an effort. You never know when you’re going to run across somebody from your sex list.

Realizing he was still waiting for an answer, Mel finally said, “I can say with perfect honesty that I have never met this Charles Pulowski, and unless he disguised himself as a waiter and delivered my chocolate volcano cake, I have never even laid eyes on him.” Perfectly truthful. And as much as he needed to know.

“I don’t think he’d have gone incognito as a waiter without you noticing him.” He sipped his coffee, then added, “He was seventy years old and weighed almost four-hundred pounds.”

Gulping, Melody sent up a quick thanks that she hadn’t met the man and that the list had been a joke. Besides, even if Rosemary thought it hadn’t been, the list was still only a guideline…she was allowed to hop into bed with any of the men on it. That didn’t mean she was required to. At least, that’s how she interpreted it.

She wasn’t so sure Rosemary would say the same. Especially after today. Then again, Rosemary might still be dead by the end of the week, depending on how much she groveled over this ambush, so who cared what she thought?

“Well, then I definitely never met him,” she replied.

He didn’t appear entirely convinced, but didn’t press. “So it was a scam. Why is Rosemary trying to set you up?”

Again, no flattery. No smarmy comment like Bill might have made when trying to pick up a woman he’d just met about how ludicrous it was to think she’d need someone to set her up.

A part of her wondered briefly if he wasn’t flirting simply because he wasn’t interested in her. But she quickly put that thought under a sharp stiletto heel in her brain and ground it out of existence. Considering she’d wanted him with every molecule in her body at first sight, she’d have to get violent if she thought he felt absolutely nothing in return.

She doubted that. He might not be flirting or sizing her up, now, but he had earlier. Besides, there was an intensity about the way he watched her that made her think he was every bit as aware of her as she was of him.

“She have some idea that you need to hop back on the horse because you fell off the marriage wagon?” he asked.

“Something like that, I guess,” she admitted. “She’s determined to throw me kicking and screaming into—” your bed “—the dating pool. But one thing I do not need is a date.”

No, she merely needed an orgasm. Or a hundred.

“So why does Rosemary think you do? Or is it just her being her spoiled puppeteer self, deciding to pull your strings the way she tries to pull everyone else’s?”

Ooh. He didn’t like Rosemary. There was a point against the man. If he said he hated cats, she’d have to scratch him off her list altogether. That’d been her first real indication that Bill was a jerk—he’d hated her cat. Which was why she’d gotten another one a couple of years ago.

Since this guy was destined to be delisted, anyway, given her way-too-unmanageable-and-dangerous response to him, she considered mentioning her two felines, Oscar and C.C. Instead, she answered his question with a pointed stare. “Rosemary is my best friend. She was my maid of honor.”

“How long were you married?”

“Almost six years. The divorce was final a few months ago.”

“That’s tough. I went through it several years ago.”

“Is that why Rosemary’s trying to set you up?”

Nick—she was mentally calling him Nick now, instead of Detective Walker, which probably wasn’t too smart but she couldn’t help it—rolled his eyes. “No, she’s doing that because she’s a pain in the ass.”

Sharing his rueful grin, because it was true and because his voice held a hint of amusement rather than dislike, she murmured, “She can be.”

“And,” he continued, “I suspect she thinks if I get distracted by someone, I won’t have as much time to corrupt Dex.”

“Dex?”

“My partner.”

Melody nearly fell out of her chair. In fact, it actually did wobble a bit because she instinctively reared straight up on the rickety old seat. It almost went over backward, and probably would have if not for the grace of God and the luck of fools.

“Partner?” she whispered.

He nodded. Confirming he had a partner. Holy shit on a shallot, this guy—her fantasy guy—was gay?

Reality immediately set back in. Not gay, dummy. A cop…all cops had partners, right? He had to be talking about his partner on the police force. Had to be. Because a man as masculine, rugged and sexy as this one being gay would be a crime against humanity. Well, half of humanity. The half that didn’t pee standing up.

It wasn’t just the idea of the man sitting across from her being gay that bothered her. It was the idea that the man she’d once had such long, torrid fantasies about—in the early days of her less-than-satisfactory marriage—could be.

She’d allowed her Time magazine marine to slip out of her mind sometime over the past few years, when she’d been so focused on pain, failure and betrayal. So she’d forgotten the many long, sleepless nights she’d lain in her bed and wondered about the stranger, picturing his dark brown eyes and the grim, intense expression on his face. She remembered now, though. And she feared it wasn’t going to be so easy to forget him again.

There was one way to make sure of his leanings. “Uh, I take it you mean your partner on the police force. Not your partner…in life?”

Lowering his coffee cup, he stared at her. Hard. “Yeah. My partner on the police force. Were you thinking…”

Her face grew hot. And probably twenty shades of red. But there was only one way out of this and that was to brazen through it. “Well, only for a second.”

He chuckled. “That’s some friend you have there, if you think she’d set you up with somebody who didn’t even like women.”

She wouldn’t put it past Rosemary, who probably wouldn’t see anything wrong in having a one-night stand with someone who was a little, um…open…in his preferences. Maybe that was because Rosemary hadn’t had a close brush with a venereal disease. Unlike Melody. Who’d learned from her enraged ex-husband that the reason he hadn’t had sex with her during their engagement was because he’d been afraid he’d give her an STD and she’d never marry him.

Uh, yeah, that’d been a pretty good bet.

Thank God the prick with the drill had been so scared of getting busted that he’d always used condoms—using the too-soon-for-kids excuse. Then, typical of men who collect things, he’d quickly tired of her and had moved on to other conquests. Mel had been tested a number of times and, like most of her money, a sexually transmitted disease was not among the things she’d taken with her when she’d left her marriage.

“It was just a brief thought,” she said with a smile.

“An incorrect one.”

“Okay. I’m convinced.”

“You sure you don’t need proof?”

Heat rose in her face as she imagined the kind of proof he could offer. As if he could read her mind, Nick started to laugh.

She blushed some more, she could feel it. In comparison with some of the other ways she’d humiliated herself in the past few years, this really wasn’t so bad. So she’d kind of accused a big, gorgeous, hunky former-marine-turned-cop of liking men. Not a huge deal in the scheme of things, right? She really shouldn’t be feeling so utterly mortified.

But she did. She really wanted to sink under the table and crawl out of here on all fours. That was another reason to forget about the man, along with the fact that he disliked her best friend. He could mortify her. That was a very bad combination and one Melody wasn’t about to allow.

“Dex, my partner in the Criminal Investigation Unit, has been dating Rosemary on and off for over a year,” he explained, still looking amused. “Hasn’t she told you about him?”

She hadn’t. Not in any detail. She certainly hadn’t mentioned that she was dating a Savannah cop. That was very unexpected for Rosemary, who, to be honest, was expected to marry into some old, rich, Southern family like her sister had done. If she ever settled down at all.

“I’ve been sort of distracted with my divorce,” Mel finally said, figuring that was the reason Rosemary hadn’t been any more forthcoming about her romance. She wondered if Paige and Tanya knew Rosemary was involved with the marine hero’s partner, but figured not. Paige couldn’t keep a secret longer than six-and-a-half minutes. And Tanya would never have let Rosemary get away with this morning’s setup. “I knew she was seeing someone but never knew who. I’m sure she figured I had enough to think about.”

“Ahh.”

Then, curious, she said, “You’re not freaking out that I thought you were gay.”

“No, I’m not.” He sipped his coffee, not quite successful in an attempt to hide a chuckle. “Unlike you.”

“I was embarrassed,” she mumbled.

That cocky look returned as he smoothly seized the chance to take the upper hand. “You were upset at the idea, Melanie, admit it. Upset and disappointed.”

“My name’s Melody.” Somehow, down deep inside, she grabbed hold of a bit of strength. Giving him a look of disdain that had reduced international designers to stammering little boys, she added, “You’re very amusing, but I absolutely was not upset, or disappointed. Now, I do have to go.”

Oh, that had sounded good. Perfect. Just the right tone and the right expression and now she could exit stage left and forget this disconcerting conversation had ever taken place.

Only, something funny happened. Funny strange, not funny ha-ha. Because instead of looking deflated or resigned, Nick Walker was smiling. A big, huge, good-ol’-boy smile that lit up his amazing eyes and brought out two enormous dimples in his cheeks.

God, what a smile.

What a smile? The question should be why a smile! She’d insulted him.

“Melody, huh? A very unusual name. And you’re Rosemary’s best friend?” he said, laughter in his voice. “I should have known.”

Her heart rate kicking up a notch, Mel whispered, “Why?”

“Well,” he replied with that boyish grin still glued to his face, “because I’ve heard about you. Rosemary does like to throw her parties, and yes, indeed, I do believe your name has come up a time or two when I’ve been at her place.”

Dead? Did she say Rosemary was dead? That wasn’t good enough. Eviscerated…that might do. For a start.

She didn’t want to know, even though the curiosity was gnawing at her stomach with painful intensity. Slowly rising, she gave him a noncommittal smile. “Really? How funny. Well, it was nice meeting you, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

The man didn’t rise. He just sat there, looking up at her. Then he slowly shook his head and tsked. Actually tsked!

“What?” she snapped.

“Seems to me,” he said, “you’re going about this all the wrong way. Getting up and running isn’t exactly going to get you what you want.”

She closed her eyes briefly, willing him not to mean what she suspected he meant.

“Because, honey, if you’re supposed to be working on me, you really ought to stick around.”

Her jaw clenched. “Working on you?”

Slowly—as if intentionally drawing out her torment—he rose from his chair, unfolding himself with unconscious grace and simmering sexiness. He stepped closer, around the table, until they stood toe-to-toe. Nearly hip to hip. Almost chest to chest and definitely breath to breath—if, of course, she ever remembered to start breathing again.

Then he laughed—a low, sultry sound that slid across all her nerve endings—and said, “Well, yeah, we haven’t even named the place yet.”

Dread filling her mind as much as his sultry, masculine scent was filling her head, she bit out, “The place?”

He nodded, stepping even closer until their chests did meet and her nipples tightened in a sudden, instinctive response. “You know,” he said softly, for her ears alone. “For us to get workin’ on that list of yours.”

Oh, God.

“After all,” he continued, “if I’m the number-one man on your sexual-fantasy list, I think we’d better go someplace a little more private.”

NICK COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time he’d been so amused, aroused and intrigued by a woman all at the same time. Melody…this friend of Rosemary’s with her sassy ponytail and her pouty, kissable lips and those deep blue eyes…she amused him for sure. And she aroused him nearly out of his mind.

As for intriguing him? Well, she’d been doing that for ages, since long before he’d ever set eyes on her. Now that he knew who she was, he had the feeling there wasn’t going to be any way to shake off this hunger except by giving them both what she’d once claimed to most desire.

“You’re deranged,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Uh-uh. I’ve seen your list.” That was entirely true. He had seen her list—he just hadn’t realized it was hers until a moment ago when she’d revealed her actual name.

Melody…not Melanie. Not a name he’d soon forget. After all, it wasn’t every day you learned a woman had named you her number-one fantasy man. That’d been the intriguing part.

“You’ve seen it?” Her jaw dropped. He reached up and touched her chin with his finger, stroking the soft skin there the tiniest bit as he tipped her mouth closed. Her face was incredibly soft, perfectly smooth. Sensual to the touch.

Melody’s eyes widened even more as she stared directly into his, not having to tilt her head back too far to do so. Reminding him that she was tall. Perfect. They were so very close. He could lean a few inches and catch that mouth in the kind of kiss that would make them both weak in the knees.

If only they weren’t entirely surrounded. But they were, and that knowledge gave him the strength to step away.

“Rosemary wouldn’t have…”

“I don’t think she meant to. She was digging for hers to annoy Dex and yours kinda fell out. It was sort of an accident, and I only caught a little glimpse.”

“An accident? How can someone accidentally show the world her best friend’s sexual-fantasy list?”

Ahh. He had her. “So you admit it?”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not admitting a thing.”

“You said you were mad at Rosemary for talking about your sexual-fantasy list.”

“That was a ‘just supposing’ type of thing. As in, just supposing I did have such a list—which I don’t—there’s no way my best friend would share it with anybody, much less you.”

He shrugged. “But she did.”

She looked ready to growl, but before she could say anything, a loud throat clearing interrupted. That’s when he realized they’d stopped talking in whispers.

“You are a jerk,” she muttered.

“And you are a liar.”

Her jaw clenched. “Well, then it’s a good thing we’ll never be seeing each other again.”

Shaking his head, he shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that.” Finally, unable to keep teasing her, he laughed. “Come on, ease up, I’m giving you a hard time. I know the list is a joke.”

Some of the tension eased out of her body. “You do?”

“You really think I believe women sit down on the night before they’re getting married and give themselves permission to cheat?” Then, thinking of his own ex-wife, he qualified that. “I mean, normal women?”

“It was a stupid game,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

“Never intended to be taken seriously.”

“More’s the pity.”

That got her attention. She lifted one brow.

“I said I know it was a joke,” he said with an unrepentant shrug. “Not that I’m glad it was.”

Her shoulders stiffened again, and Nick almost chuckled at how easy she was to rile. So unlike the sad-looking, life-weary woman he’d met a few weeks ago, struggling to be strong but unable to hide the truth of her desperation.

He much preferred this Melody, the one whose eyes were sparkling, not tearing up.

“Are you the type of guy who’d do something like that?”

“You don’t have to sound all judgmental,” he said, not denying it, even though her accusation wasn’t true. “You were the one who wrote the list in the first place. What’d you call it? Your Men Most Wanted? I gotta say, I’d really like to hear more about how I was lucky enough to win first place.”

This time, he thought he heard her spine snap as she straightened up. Good. Definitely no more quivering lip, no more lowered eyes, shaking hands or sad expression. Now her mouth was moving a little, as if she were telling him off under her breath. Her whole body was so stiff and indignant, as if she were ready to pound him…or jump on him. Yessir, he was definitely enjoying seeing another glimpse of this redhead’s temper. “So how about we sit back down and talk about this list of yours?”

“How about you take your breakfast and shove it up your—”

“Ahem!”

This time the throat clearing came from a frazzled-looking mama with a toddler in a high chair and a wide-eyed preschooler beside her. Tsking, he murmured, “Not very ladylike.”

Melody didn’t reply. Instead, giving a quick, apologetic look to the woman with the little ones, she swung around, her purse smacking him in the arm on the way by. She didn’t say another word as she stalked through the restaurant.

“Nice meeting you, Melody,” he called after her, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Her response made him laugh even more. Without turning around—without a word—she lifted her hand up and shot him the finger over her shoulder as she blew out the door.

Apparently the mama with the little ones didn’t mind non-verbal insults, because she was grinning, too, once Melody was gone. “I don’t think that went well,” she said.

“I think that went just fine,” he replied, still chuckling.

Yeah. It’d gone very well. He’d say their relationship was off to a rousing start. They’d talked and flirted, taunted and argued. Most of all, they’d pushed each other’s buttons.

She had awakened something in him—something he hadn’t felt in a good long time, if ever. It wasn’t merely lust. The sex-list thing had been a joke, he knew that. He’d simply liked teasing her with it to see the way her eyes snapped with fire, her chin jutted out and her sexy mouth turned mulish.

No, it wasn’t because of any list that he couldn’t wait to seek out Miss Tanner again. It was because for the first time in a number of years, he’d met a woman who’d gotten in the last word and left him practically begging for more. That, and because he was genuinely interested in getting to know her.

“Don’t you think you should go after her?” the waitress said as she came by with his check.

He shook his head. “Too soon.”

“Suit yourself,” the woman said as she walked away.

The young mother apparently agreed with the waitress. “No, it’s not too soon.” She kept on talking even while doing that nasty spit-on-a-napkin-to-wipe-the-kid’s-face thing all mothers did. “You need to strike while the iron is hot.”

Nick caught the kid’s resigned look and winked. “Oh?”

“She’s all flustered now. Once she gets home and thinks about it, she’s going to forget how charming you were and only remember how you yanked her chain about that list of hers.”

Nick winced. The woman had heard every word they’d said.

“Listen, when you have babies you develop ears like a hawk. And your conversation was a mite bit more interesting than ours.”

He laughed, dropping his hand to the pre-schooler’s head to rustle his soft hair. “You got a smart mama, you know that?”

The little boy nodded. Then, lifting his hand, he said, “What does this mean?”

Nick knew the middle finger was gonna pop up about two seconds before it actually did. “Yikes, sorry,” he muttered.

The mother sighed heavily and waved a hand, shooing him off while she dealt with the child.

Nick didn’t plan to act on the young woman’s advice. He had a feeling Melody wouldn’t take kindly to being followed down the streets of Savannah. Besides, he didn’t need to follow her. He knew where she lived.

Glancing at the table they’d shared, he spied Mel’s half-empty cup. It was smeared with a bit of her lipstick, the rosy color shining brightly against the white mug. Strange, he could still almost see her slim hand curled around it and the way her lips pursed as she blew on it to take off some of the steam.

Crazy. He’d never been so focused, so aware of a woman before. Of her every movement, the way she lifted her hand to brush back an errant strand of hair. The hitchy little sound she made in the back of her throat when she was upset. That brilliant, full-lipped smile.

Still looking at the mug, he started to chuckle as he realized something. Even though she’d blown him off with a resounding silent hand gesture, he’d obviously gotten under her skin. Melody had been so flustered she’d forgotten to even pay for her coffee, leaving him stuck with the bill. His and hers.

He didn’t mind, he’d have wanted to pay anyway. But he’d bet anything she wouldn’t have wanted him to.

When he actually looked at the check, his chuckle turned into a full laugh. Because Melody hadn’t only walked out without paying for a cup of coffee. “Biscuits and gravy,” he read aloud.

Mel had left him with the bill for her breakfast, and she’d had his favorite. Somehow that made him like her even more.

And reaffirmed just how much he couldn’t wait to see her again.

AFTER HER SILENT parting shot, Melody hadn’t been able to get out of the restaurant fast enough. She’d almost tripped over a couple of people as she’d made her escape, but she didn’t think she’d have been able to stop if someone who’d eaten one too many cholesterol-laden scrambled eggs keeled over of a heart attack right in front of her.

“Too much,” she muttered as she stood outside in the hot Savannah morning a few moments later. She’d had to pause to make her heart stop pounding and to regain her calm.

Nick Walker was too much. She just couldn’t take him today. Or tomorrow. Or next year. Maybe when she was fifty she could handle a man like Nick, but until then, uh-uh.

Why, oh why had Rosemary done this to her? Setting her up, telling him about that stupid list? She’d thrown Melody to the wolves…at least one Big Bad Wolf…when Rosemary, better than anyone, knew how deeply Bill’s betrayals had hurt her.

A product of a home broken by infidelity herself when she was very young, Rosemary had been the one Mel had confided in during the last miserable months of her marriage. Before she’d gone to the billboard, before she’d made a laughingstock of herself, Melody had poured her heart out to Rosemary.

And this was how her friend had repaid her.

“Maybe that’s why she did it,” she admitted under her breath. Because on one or two occasions when the self-doubt had been overwhelming, she’d told her best friend about her deepest fear—that Bill’s description of her as a pretty, lifeless, sexless doll was true. Rosemary had been a quiet, comforting voice of support. But she’d also wanted to go find a voodoo priestess and have some juju put on Bill so he could never get it up again.

Hmm…if the bastard didn’t stay out of her life from now on, Melody might just think about it.

Rosemary believed in action, not words. So Melody could almost hear her justifying today’s actions. Her friend had undoubtedly figured that the minute Melody recognized her Time magazine hero, she’d forget the list had been a joke, let her libido take over for her brain, and end up wiling away the rest of the day in this guy’s bed.

Finally realizing she’d better go before Nick came outside and assume she’d been waiting for him, she started walking back toward her place. “He’d probably think I was out here planning to pounce on him because of that stupid list,” she muttered.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been tempted—the man was temptation on two legs. But she wasn’t ready for it. Sex with anybody required a level of trust she wasn’t sure she was capable of giving anymore.

And sex with somebody who could crush her with one bored look, or a lack of interest in a second round? No way. Her ego couldn’t stand it. She’d be better off going to bed with the unsexiest, most boring, unattractive guy she could find. That way, if she wasn’t inspiring enough to command a repeat performance, at least she wouldn’t give a damn.

With Nick, she’d give a damn.

She really didn’t deserve this, not now when she finally felt that things were coming together. Because Nick Walker made her feel anything but together. He confused her. Angered her. Amused her. Oh, Lord, definitely aroused her. But she didn’t have time in her life for any of that right now. Not confusion or anger, not distraction or embarrassment.

Not sex. Not him.

“Not sex with him.”

“Excuse me?”

She realized she’d spoken aloud when she glanced up and saw a man standing directly in front of her on the sidewalk. She’d almost barreled into him, paying attention only to what was going on in her head and not what was happening in front of her face. For a second she thought she’d just made an idiot of herself for about the tenth time in an hour in front of a complete stranger. But this wasn’t a stranger.

She wasn’t sure whether that made it better or worse.

“Uh, hi,” she said, clearing her throat. “I almost didn’t recognize you without salsa music or the smell of enchiladas.”

The Hispanic owner of the Mexican restaurant where Melody had hung out with her friends for years gave her a warm smile. “Believe it or not, this is my second favorite place to eat.” He pointed to the café she’d just left, which was only a few yards behind her. “I come here for grits and biscuits.”

The restaurant owner, who kept his few strands of overly shiny black hair brushed across his bald head in a blatant attempt to defy late middle-age, didn’t look like the grits-and-biscuits type. Though judging by the pendulous belly straining the buttons of his short-sleeved white dress shirt, Mel supposed he hadn’t been living on tortillas alone.

“You’re not with your friends this morning?” he asked, looking around as if expecting to see Paige, Rosemary or Tanya hiding behind a car parked at the curb. “I didn’t think you girls ever did anything without each other.”

She really hated the way some men called grown women “girls.” That was on her pet-peeve list. Along with men who called their cars their “ride” and their wives “baby.” Like her ex had.

“Not today. I’m all by myself,” she said.

He shook his head. “That is not good, señora. You shouldn’t be alone at this time. You should be with people…people who appreciate you and make you smile in that beautiful way.” His eyes glittered as he repeated, “Such a beautiful smile.”

His words were friendly, but something about the way he was looking at her made her uncomfortable. It was almost personal. Flirtatious. If he weren’t twenty years her senior and hadn’t been serving her and her friends chicken burritos since they were in middle school, she’d suspect the guy was coming on to her.

“I would give anything to see that smile every day.”

Okay, he was coming on to her. Eww.

Suddenly the idea of hooking up with an unsexy, unappealing guy for the sake of her ego became less palatable. Particularly when she, uh, pictured the possibilities with this one.

Nope. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t have sex with someone who didn’t attract her, not even for the sake of her banged-up pride. Not for fun, not because of a list, not to get back in the saddle, not for anything. So, really, the only solution was to have no sex at all. Not for a long, long time. Years. Decades.

Then she pictured Nick’s face…his big hands, his hard body, his soft, sexy voice.

And wondered if she’d last the week.

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