“Tonight, then,” I say. “I’ll send a car for you.”
She smiles, even if it’s a little shaky, even if I can tell she still thinks there’s some ulterior purpose to the invitation.
“Tonight,” she says.
CHAPTER FOUR
Melody
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the dress I bought on my way home this evening. It was only when Mason asked if I wanted to go to dinner with him – or, rather, gave me the get-out-of-jail-free card of pretending that he was forcing me – that I realized I don’t actually have any going out clothes.
The dress is black with lace over the chest, revealing my bra, and as I gaze at myself I can’t shake the feeling that I look like a complete idiot.
I’ve had to be tough in my life, to develop a shield of banter and humor to make sure that nobody gets too close to me. I’ve never had much interest from men, but when I have, I’ve always politely said no.
I don’t want that to happen again, the mess I got myself into last time.
Yet when Mason asked me, I felt a stirring deep in my belly, almost like I was a teenager again and he’d just asked me to prom.
Sitting in his office, I started to imagine what it would like to be normal, whatever that means.
What would it be like not to have to look over my shoulder all the time?
But the truth remains that I do have to look over my shoulder, and by getting in deeper with Mason, I’m putting him in danger the same way I’m putting Gertrude in danger.
I should leave town.
Tonight.
I should run and go somewhere quiet and lonely and far, far away.
Then the buzzer to my apartment goes off and a wave of nerves and excitement crash through me, flooding me with tingly hope.
Just one date.
Don’t I deserve that, after all the years of running, of heartache, of pain?
Just one date with the best man I’ve ever met.
The man of my dreams.
I just hope it isn’t a trick.
I feel out of place as the host leads me to an elevator in the marble lobby, bypassing the restaurant as he gestures for me to go inside.
The elevator is lined with plush red material and smells of vanilla, the cleanest, most welcoming elevator in the whole freaking city.
I ride it up, butterflies swirling in my belly, clutching my bag tightly as though it’s a life raft and will save me if I go adrift.
That’s true, in a way.
I don’t have any floatation device in there, but I do have my pepper spray, and I’ve practiced using it for hours to make sure my aim is good and my reflexes sharp. I don’t even know how many canisters I’ve gone through.
The thing is, I don’t think that Mason wants to meet with me for any nefarious reason.
And yet my instincts tell me to be suspicious, always, to never let my guard down.
I let my guard down before and it resulted in a hell of blood, violence, and pain.
I shiver, close my eyes, and counting backward from ten slowly.
I’m at six when the doors slide open with a beep.
Mason is standing just outside the elevator, looking dapper and handsome in a black shirt and trousers, the tucked-in shirt showing the V-shape of his muscled body.
His shoulders look somehow broader as he steps forward, offering me his hand.
“Melody,” he says, in a husky voice. “You look absolutely incredible.”
A shiver dances up my spine as he lays his hand against the flat of my back and leads me down a plush carpeted hallway and then into a massive ballroom, so large it has three separate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. One side of the room is dominated with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city, rose red with the setting sun.
In the center of the hardwood ballroom floor sits a single table and chairs, the open space making them seem special. As we get closer, his hand a warm imprint on my back – God, is he doing that on purpose? – I see that the table and chairs glimmer with small diamonds.
A candle flickers in the center.
“Wow,” I say. “Do you do this for all the girls?”
I feel his hand tense against my back and immediately regret the comment.
“There aren’t any others,” he growls. “Please. Sit.”
“What a gentleman,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and teasing.
I take a seat and then he sits down opposite me.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t eat downstairs,” he says. “But we wouldn’t get any peace. Ever since this cellphone debacle, I can barely step outside without somebody wanting to give me their opinion on Spark. I—Sorry, Melody. I’m ranting.”
“No,” I say quickly, reaching across to touch his hand …
And then stop, wondering why the heck I’d feel comfortable enough to do such a thing.
Is this a date?
I end up toying with the candlestick instead.
“I mean, I don’t mind if you want to talk about work. It’s interesting. And everybody needs to vent. And this is amazing, Mason, really.”
Secretly, I wonder if the real reason for him wanting to meet me here is shame. If he’s embarrassed to be seen with the plus size wedding planner from the wrong side of the tracks.
Old feelings dwell darkly in my belly, the inbuilt embarrassment that comes with being born unloved, poor, and ignored, as though I’m always trying to prove myself and never can.
“I mean it,” he says, pulling me back to the present moment. “You look unbelievable, Melody. That dress, that lace, it’s enough to drive a man insane.”
My body gets hot at his words, not just my face, my cheeks flushing as my sex aches, and my clit gets tight and sultry.
Suddenly, my panties feel too tight, the fabric grinding against me suggestively.
I can’t stop my overactive mind from imagining that it’s
