Isabel Sharpe Read online

  “Dad started me on golf. He got me to play after Stoner refused.”

  “Why?”

  “Rich white country club game. Stoner was all about rebellion.”

  “Go on.”

  “So…golf is pretty good discipline, but it wasn’t my thing, to Dad’s disgust. Anyway, I did meet a guy playing one day who taught fencing at the local rec department, David Shifrin. I took a class and got hooked. He ended up coaching me through high school. We got along really well.”

  “Better than you and your dad?”

  He shot her a surprised look. “Yeah. Dad and I…well, he wanted a carbon copy kid and I wasn’t it.”

  “Neither was Stoner.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Why did you keep at it?”

  “Melanie, are you going to ask me questions the entire night?”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “You’ve never been like this with me before.”

  “I just talked about myself, you mean?”

  “That’s not what I mean.” He merged onto route 41 heading to I94 and downtown. “Is this how you are with men? Once it’s a date then you need to flatter me by asking all about me?”

  She frowned, thinking. She did ask men questions. It’s what you did on dates because men absolutely loved talking about themselves. One of the things she enjoyed about being friends with Edgar was that she could talk about herself, too. Tonight she’d slipped into the old pattern without blinking. “Maybe it’s date behavior, yes. But I do want to know. And so I ask.”

  He laughed. “As long as you really want to know.”

  “So tell me.” She held a pretend microphone in front of her mouth. “Why did you keep at fencing?”

  “Because I’m good at it.” He grinned at her silly joke. Another thing she enjoyed about Edgar. “Because I love it. Because it keeps me in shape, keeps me social, keeps me improving at something. Life can go around in circles if you don’t have a hobby or cause or goal that keeps evolving.”

  Melanie tried to think of something she kept getting better at. Drinking? Staying out late? Edgar made her feel a little shallow when he made comments like that. She had no idea why he wasn’t dating some scholarly type.

  Though while he chose one thing and made sure he improved, she was more about trying out new things. Like when she’d made him pedal out onto Lake Michigan on a Hydrobike. “Next question?”

  She shook her head. “I’m done for now, thank you very much.”

  He laughed and reached over, rubbed her shoulder, then the back of her neck. His touch was warm and familiar and also not at all. She had to steel herself to keep from flinching from his hands. Don’t touch me. When he did that, the weird complicated fear started all over, and she’d just been getting comfortable with him again.

  She hated having to work to get comfortable with someone she’d already been comfortable with for two years. More comfortable with him than any man she’d ever known. And now he wanted to mess up the best thing she’d ever had, with sex and maybe even love, if she’d heard him right when he left her room the other night. Sex and love never worked out for her. Never.

  “Why don’t you ask me some questions, Eddie?”

  “Is that manly?”

  She laughed. “Maybe not traditionally, but women eat it up. If men only knew.”

  “Okay, then.” Another sexy, amused glance. “How are things going with your mom?”

  “Oh.” Melanie sighed. “She’s trying. I’m trying. Though I want to kill her for helping you trick me into bed. What kind of mother does something like that?”

  “She wants us to work out.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Edgar, don’t ask me that.”

  “Yes, okay, sorry.” Another look, a little more serious that time. “She gives great haircuts.”

  “She always cut Alana’s and my hair, too. We loved it. She’d set up a high stool in front of her vanity, which had a big hinged mirror. We’d pretend we were ladies coming into her shop.”

  “Not all your memories were bad.”

  “Definitely not. There’s just more of those than the good ones.” Melanie shrugged. Ancient history; why dwell on it? “She picked out nice clothes for you, too.”

  “Nice to have another pair of eyes. Especially ones that can see colors.”

  It took Melanie a few beats to process that. “You’re color-blind?”

  “Since birth.”

  “So that’s why…”

  “What?” He merged into the left lane to exit onto 94. “I goof up sometimes?”

  Most of the time. “Sometimes.”

  “I thought I had the colors memorized.”

  “You need someone to help you dress in the morning.”

  “Want to volunteer?” He grinned at her, and she managed a smile back. Waking every morning with Edgar, to make sure he didn’t go to work in green shorts and a brown shirt… The idea appealed to a protective part of her. The rest of her was shouting no, thanks.

  “You could label your clothes.”

  He laughed. “I’d look really sharp coming to work with a big tag that said Maroon hanging off my butt.”

  She giggled. “Better than Kick Me.”

  “Better than that.” He merged efficiently onto the highway, changed lanes and followed the traffic east. “I think your mom is a good person who cares about you and your sister. You can tell by the way she worries.”

  “Mostly about me.” Melanie rolled her eyes.

  “She wants you settled.”

  “So she can stop worrying.”

  “So you can be happy.”

  “The way she wants me to be happy. The way Alana wants me to be happy. What about the way I want to be happy?”

  “How do you want to be happy? Drifting from guy to guy, none of whom gives a shit about you except for the few hours you’re wrinkling his sheets?”

  “Leave it, Edgar.” Deep down she recognized her burst of anger as covering up fear, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. “Since you have a vested interest in this, you’re hardly objective on what’s best for me.”

  “Ouch. Yeah, okay, you got me.” He signaled and pulled off onto St. Paul Avenue, heading for the Third Ward. “I love you so I’m not allowed to comment.”

  A bolt of adrenaline zapped her, like lightning. “Don’t say that.”

  “Scary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s true.” He chuckled and pulled into the parking lot of a two-story brick building, parked, turned off the motor and leaned unexpectedly toward her, one hand across the back of her seat, one extended on the dashboard. She felt trapped. He seemed larger than usual, his eyes intense and compelling. He smelled really, really good. “My dream is that one of these days when I’m inside you again and we’re making incredible sexual magic happen, I’m going to say it to you and you’re going to say it back and mean it.”

  “Edgar.” She was caught, trapped, heart beating in her throat, unable to catch a breath. Where had this version of Edgar come from? “You’re kind of freaking me out.”

  He held her gaze another second; his eyes caught the glow of the rich afternoon sunlight; he seemed unearthly and powerful. Then he blinked, turned and was Edgar again. “Then let’s go fence.”

  He unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car, leaving her a helpless mess in the front seat. If he was as good with thrust and parry in fencing as he was conversationally, and in bed, it wasn’t any wonder he was Wisconsin Division Champion.

  The trunk slammed. Her door opened. “You coming?”

  She registered him standing with a large long bag, wider at one end, slung over his shoulder, and cleared her gravelly throat. “Yes. Coming.”

  They walked inside the building and came to a set of doors. To the left were offices. To the right, a reception area and beyond, through another set of doors, these open, a large room with lanes taped off, and fencers in white
jackets and masks practicing.

  “Hey, Edgar.” The cute twenty-something brunette behind the counter beamed at him, dimples showing how glad she was to see him. “Hi, Carla.”

  “Scott was hoping you’d be in tonight. Frank got sick and he’s looking for a sparring partner.”

  “I’ll see if I can find him. This is Melanie, by the way. Melanie, Carla, who keeps us all in line here. No sneaking past her, no paying late or you’re in serious trouble.”

  Carla giggled. “Nice to meet you, Melanie.”

  “Same—”

  “Hey, Edgar.” An athletic-looking middle-aged man waved as he strode by. “Good to see you.”

  “Hey, Joe.” He nudged Melanie. “That’s Joe Biebel. World Champion gold medal in 2003, silver in 2008.”

  “Edgar, my man.” Another guy exiting the fencing room paused to give Edgar a high five.

  “How’s the knee, Ben?”

  “Better, thanks.” He gave Melanie a nod and moved on.

  Melanie felt as if she’d entered an alternate universe where Edgar was the big man on campus, and she the dweeby little nobody. It made her realize to what extent she’d put him in a box and not looked further, and for that she was ashamed.

  “Here’s the other helmet you asked for. And the jacket. You have everything else you need?”

  “Everything. Foils, and my willing prey.”

  Carla giggled again, then tipped her head to look at him shyly. “A most excellent haircut, Ed-gar.”

  “Thanks, Carla.” He tapped the helmet on the counter in salute, and when he took Melanie’s hand to lead her into the club, she let him, feeling oddly passive and uncertain.

  “Hey, Edgar. You have time for some practice?” A young blond guy shook Edgar’s hand.

  “Hi, Scott. I’m here to teach Melanie.”

  “No, you guys go ahead. I’d like to watch you.” The idea of sitting on the sidelines and trying to get a handle on her confusion sounded like heaven. Not to mention putting off the moment where she’d look like an idiot waving around a weapon she had no idea how to use.

  “You sure?” Edgar searched her face, and she knew if he thought she was just being polite, he’d turn the guy down.

  “Positive.” She held his gaze until he seemed satisfied.

  “Okay.” He found a chair for her, set her up against the wall where she could watch, and explained a few basic rules of combat for foil fencing. The lane they played on was the “piste.” Target area was the trunk and groin, front or back. Hits on arms, legs or head didn’t count. “Right of way” was in play, which meant the person who attacked first would score the point in the event of a tie. Sounded simple.

  The men suited up, saluted each other by placing the foil straight up in front of their faces, then swishing it down to one side. The helmets reminded her of beekeeper masks; the jackets were covered with padding and thin metal that in competition would register the touches of the sword electronically.

  En garde. Allez.

  A few minutes later she took back any idea she had about fencing being simple. Since the attacks were varied and lightning fast, the responses had to be instantaneous. Half the time she couldn’t even tell what was happening.

  Edgar was very…good. She knew nothing about fencing, but even she could tell. Where Scott was bouncing up and down and all over the place, Edgar was solid, calm, steady, graceful, thrusting with power, often relentlessly driving Scott to the very end of the piste, his body holding sharp angles seemingly effortlessly.

  He was…sexy. The longer she watched, the more sexy he looked to her, and she started having memories of their nights together and combining those with her view of his body now, controlled and strong and skillful in both cases. She knew the shape of the muscles driving those legs, knew firsthand the strength in those arms. Oh, my.

  A final touch scored and they were done. Edgar pulled off his helmet, his face flushed and damp, grinning with the pleasure of his workout. The pair shook hands, Scott waved to Melanie and left the room.

  Edgar came over to her, still grinning, the heat of battle still intense in his gaze now focused on her, and Melanie had to look away.

  She wanted him. Right now, out in the parking lot in the car. Edgar. Wanted him like crazy, his body, hands and mouth all over her, and hers all over him.

  Breathe, Melanie.

  She couldn’t toy with him. If she was going to make love with him again, it had to be for real. She knew herself, knew she was given to these fickle attractions. She couldn’t mess with his mind. Not Edgar. If she hurt him, she’d never forgive herself. He said he was in love with her. She was just horny because he made a very, very hot fencer.

  She had to remember who she was and how she dealt with men.

  “Ready to learn?”

  Melanie laughed to cover her reaction to him. “Sure.”

  The lesson was agony. He took every opportunity to touch her, and since he’d changed out of the padding that would have put a nice, safe barrier between them, when his body brushed against her, when he guided her legs or arms or torso into position, she got more and more distracted, more and more aware of him sexually and in more and more trouble. Maybe she should run to the ladies’ room and bring herself off so she could calm down some.

  Except it wouldn’t be enough. This wasn’t just about orgasms. This was about Edgar, and how he was making her feel. She had to force herself to concentrate on what he was saying, growing so flushed and breathless he probably thought she was in ridiculously bad shape.

  Half an hour went by. She’d learned some footwork, some swordwork, and was actually having fun in spite of her sexual torment. The positions were surprisingly difficult but oddly satisfying. It was not unlike dancing, with strict poses and defined movements, yet given what he told her about some simple strategies, also very cerebral.

  Melanie wasn’t feeling very cerebral. Not at the moment.

  Finally, when she was about to beg him for thrusting lessons that had nothing to do with fencing, he glanced at the clock on the wall. “Thanks for indulging me here, Melanie. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

  “I did.” She smiled at him, thinking she was completely nuts ever to have considered him anything but wildly attractive. “I learned a lot.”

  “Ready for some dinner?”

  “Sure.” Oh, no. Dinner. She’d be sitting across the table from him, drinking alcohol, which would lower her resistance. With any luck he’d chosen a nice boisterous hamburger joint where they’d have to shout to be heard and she could lose herself in people watching.

  “I made a reservation at Bartalotta’s in the village.”

  Gulp. White tablecloths. Fabulous food. Impeccable service. No guy had ever taken her anywhere that nice. No guy had ever made her feel special enough to be worth it. Except Edgar.

  She was doomed.

  10

  EDGAR SAT OPPOSITE Melanie at Bartalotta’s, wanting to pinch himself. He was having a good time. A really good time. Because he was pretty sure—this was the pinch-himself part—that Melanie was having a really good time, too. No, better than that, a really good date. With him.

  He’d barely made it through the early part of the evening, wanted to sink through the floor at her lukewarm response to going fencing, but he was determined to show her what he was about so she could decide to take him or leave him.

  Too soon to be absolutely sure, but at least she wasn’t halfway out the door. In fact, she was sipping her wine happily, making eye contact once in a while, almost shyly, as if—

  Okay, he wasn’t going that far. But he’d felt the chemistry between them at his club and for once—in daylight, anyway—it wasn’t going one way, him lusting after her, her thinking he was dear, sweet, cute Edgar. Tonight…she might have taken the first step toward connecting him in the flesh with the guy she’d responded to so passionately in the dark.

  Now he just had to keep it up for two more dates, pray his brother showed her a horrible time, and that Edgar d
idn’t do or say anything to freak her out.

  Like “I love you.” He’d nearly swallowed his tongue after those words came out. He hadn’t even been planning to say them. At least he’d spoken matter-of-factly, and hadn’t dropped to his knees with an earnestly desperate declaration.

  She’d be out of the country by now.

  He loved spending time with her. He loved the way she got softly looped after he introduced her to a bubbly, crisp Prosecco before dinner. The wine list was excellent, but even given that, everything tasted extra good here. Maybe it was just the atmosphere—elegant but not stuffy. You always had a good time at Bartalotta’s.

  He loved how she was gradually becoming more talkative as they shared an excellent bottle of Barolo, how she enjoyed her food, ate with relish, didn’t pick, or claim diets she wasn’t really on.

  He loved…her. Tonight was so wonderful. He couldn’t get cocky, though, couldn’t assume too much. Melanie threw herself headlong into whatever situation she was in while she was in it, and often changed her mind once she got out. She was impetuous, impulsive—everything he wasn’t. “Dessert?”

  “Oof.” She put her hand to her stomach. “No room.”

  “Even fruit? Sorbet?”

  “I wish.” She sighed contentedly, her eyelids drooping sensually.

  “Okay.” He signaled their waitress for the check and handed over his credit card. “Thanks for joining me tonight.”

  “Oh, Eddie.” Her tone tested his resolve to kiss her sweetly at the door when he dropped her off at home, and leave it at that. “I had a really good time.”

  “I’m glad.” He managed to sound casual, though he wanted to rise from the table and beat his chest. “I had a great time, too.”

  The waitress came back with his receipt; he signed, then escorted Melanie out into the soft darkness and toward his car.

  She yawned and tipped her head up to look at the stars, staggering slightly. He took her shoulders to steady her. She didn’t pull away.

  “Mmm, thanks. I had one too many glasses, I guess. I didn’t realize until I started trying to walk.”