Isabel Sharpe Read online

  Which meant he would absolutely not try anything. A page out of one of his father’s lectures about women, which he swore his mother had put his dad up to when he and Stoner were teenagers. Hard to believe his father would have thought long and hard about how to treat loved ones, considering how he treated his own family. Though, of course, there were people good at spouting theories, and bad at practice.

  In any case, ideas of chivalry appealed to Edgar, another reason he enjoyed fencing, where courtesy and sportsmanship were as important as skill. So even though his instinct told him cementing his progress tonight with passion was a good idea, he wouldn’t take advantage of Melanie’s alcohol-muddled brain. Darn it.

  Her cell phone rang; she fumbled in her purse and peered at the display. He couldn’t help seeing it over her shoulder. Stoner.

  Confidence started leaking out of him as though he was a tire just gone over a nail. He’d never competed at anything with his brother and won. Stoner wasn’t a bad guy, he just needed to come in first, almost pathologically, like their dad. If he got any whiff of Melanie’s date tonight with Edgar…

  Melanie closed the phone—thank God—and put it back in her purse without answering, which might have killed him. He let go of her soft beautiful shoulders and opened the passenger door for her, hating how the uncertainty that had come so close to vanishing was returning. Would she call Stoner back after he dropped her off at home? Would she go meet him tonight in her tipsy and vulnerable state? Stoner would waste no time taking advantage. Dad’s chivalry lectures might as well have been read to the wall in Stoner’s case.

  Damn it.

  Edgar closed the door after she got in, returned her grateful smile, then stalked to the driver’s seat. Now what?

  He started the engine, telling himself to calm down. They’d had a great time. If she wanted to go screw his brother tonight that was her business. He’d have his answer about her feelings for him, that was for sure. But he didn’t relish the idea of staying home alone after a night like this, wondering where they were and what they were doing.

  Didn’t he just caution himself to calm down? Maybe when Edgar got back home after dropping Melanie off, Stoner would be there happily reading War and Peace.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Edgar glanced at her, startled. He must have snorted or something. “Random musings. Nothing worth repeating.”

  “Okay.” She yawned and settled back against the seat.

  “I wore you out?”

  “No, I’m content. Not that tired.”

  “Yeah? You want to go get coffee somewhere?”

  “Oh, no, Eddie. Thanks. I’ll just go home.”

  Familiar panic rose. He could spend the rest of the night talking to her, this evening had been so miraculous. Obviously she wasn’t as fired up as he was.

  Okay, okay, one date at a time. This didn’t mean she was going to call Stoner, and even if she did, it didn’t mean Stoner had won. Edgar had two dates to go.

  Still, he drove slowly, savoring the minutes in her presence, sap that he was. At her house, he got out of the car and was prevented from executing a gallant door-opening when she hopped out on her own. They walked to her back door in a silence that became increasingly awkward.

  “Well. Thanks, Edgar, for a great evening.” She got up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “The fencing was great, dinner was delicious, and your company, as always, was—”

  He kissed her. Maybe it was a dirty trick in the middle of her sentence, but she had started looking formal and distant, and a combination of desperation and lust demanded action.

  Her mouth was yielding and sweet. Ignoring that her arms rested tautly on his chest instead of wrapping around his neck, he backed her against the door and pushed his thigh between her legs.

  “Eddie.” Her voice came out a weak gasp when he let her breathe again, and he was satisfied.

  Er, no, he wasn’t satisfied, he was heated up to the point of taking her against the door, but he was satisfied emotionally with the evening’s progress. Satisfied that his kiss had had an effect on her composure.

  Which was all he could hope for right now. He’d go home and hope he’d left her wanting more of him. If she went inside and called Stoner, she’d do it with the taste of him still on her lips.

  “Good night, Melanie. Thanks for coming out with me.”

  “Yes. Welcome. Yes.” She nodded bemusedly.

  “I’ll wait until you’re safely in.”

  “Yes. Right. Okay.” She fumbled with her keys, dropped them, let him pick them up, and made it into the house.

  He grinned and walked a few steps backward, watching her disappear into the kitchen, before he turned to his car and floated the few yards to the driver’s side.

  Driving home, he couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off his face. She’d kissed him back. No, it wasn’t daylight, but the back porch light was on, so he hadn’t been in darkness this time. She knew he was Edgar and she’d kissed him. With more surrender than passion, but he’d take it.

  He pulled into his parking place, bounded up the three flights to his apartment, looking forward to a shower, then some mooning-fantasy time before sleep.

  “Dude.” Stoner was home. “You were out late.”

  “Not that late. What is it, eleven?”

  Stoner closed the mayonnaise jar, having made his favorite snack, a cheese-and-potato-chip sandwich. “Late for you.”

  Edgar shrugged. “I had a date.”

  “Sweet.” Stoner put the sandwich on a plate and grabbed a can of beer from the refrigerator, leaving the mayonnaise and dirty knife out, as usual. “Did you get any?”

  Edgar sent him a look and poured himself a glass of ice water. “Did you?”

  “Nah, I called some friends, but struck out for tonight. I’m going out Friday with your friend Melanie, though. She’s going to show me the best clubs in town.”

  He stopped drinking, his stomach sick. “She called you?”

  “I left her a message earlier, then I just called her again, a few minutes before you walked in. She sounded sort of spacy.”

  “Okay.” His stomach settled somewhat. At least she hadn’t dialed him the second Edgar left.

  “What’s her story?”

  “What do you mean?” He finished the water, dumped the ice in the sink. He doubted Stoner wanted to know her emotional history.

  “She date around or what?”

  “She does.” He put the glass in the dishwasher, resignedly put the mayonnaise back in the refrigerator.

  “Cool. I thought I recognized the type.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Something bugging you, Edgar?”

  “No, why?”

  “You get all bent out of shape when the subject is the delectable Ms. Mel-a-nie.”

  “I guess I’m protective. Big-brother type of friendship and all.” He headed for the bathroom so he could stop this hideous lying. “Okay if I sleep in my room tonight?”

  “Sure.” Stoner put his feet up on the coffee table and turned on the TV. “I think you got it bad for her.”

  Edgar stopped a foot from his bedroom door, already taking off his shirt. “Me?”

  “That whole big-brotherly thing?” Stoner shook his head, mouth full of cheese, bread and potato chips. “Not buying it.”

  “Okay.” He pulled his shirt back down, took a few steps back into the living room until he was in Stoner’s field of vision, arms crossed over his chest. “If I said yeah, I’m in love with her, would it make a difference to you Friday night?”

  Stoner laughed. “Dude, if the woman wants me, she wants me.” He swallowed a bite. “Are you in love with her?”

  “Yeah.”

  Stoner put his sandwich down. “How about that.”

  “Yeah. How about that.”

  “She love you?”

  Edgar shrugged.

  “You were out with her tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Progress?”

  “M
aybe.”

  Stoner nodded thoughtfully. “Well, shit. That does change things.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Now I’ll just have her give me a blow job.”

  “Geez, Stoner, I—”

  “I’m kidding. Lighten up. Man, you do have it bad.”

  Edgar unclenched his fist, forced himself to start breathing again. “Sorry.”

  “Let me tell you something.” He picked up his can of Budweiser. “You want to stay intact? Keep your heart and your dick separate. Love will tear you apart, man.”

  Too late. Way too late. “Uh…”

  Stoner sighed. “You’re whipped. I can tell.”

  “Couldn’t help it.”

  “Yeah, I know. Believe it or not, I got hit once, too.”

  “You?” Edgar dropped onto the couch next to his brother.

  “Remember Jessica Barnes?”

  “You dated senior year.”

  “I was nuts about her. Nuts. She said jump, I asked how far. Pathetic.” He took a long swig of beer. “I did this for two years, then she dumped me. I was like that’s it, my life is over. Over, man. I didn’t think I could ever feel happy again.”

  “I remember.”

  “That’s when I said okay, that’s it for me. No more of this. I never, ever want to feel that way again, never want to be so vulnerable to someone that she can make me feel that kind of pain again. Never. And I know it’s against what you’re supposed to be like, but I’m happy. I’m just really effing happy now without all that angst.”

  For a brief moment, Edgar understood him; he might even have agreed with him. Possibly a first in their relationship. But then he remembered what Melanie’s mouth felt like pressed against his, and he knew his brother was wrong in every way it was possible to be wrong.

  A commercial for a floor cleaner came on TV. They both sat watching, though Edgar was pretty sure neither of them was paying attention.

  “I’ll keep my hands to myself. You don’t need me making trouble. You’ve got plenty already.”

  Edgar nodded, his throat actually tightening with emotion. He’d underestimated his brother. “Thanks, Ben.”

  “That’s Mr. Stoner to you.”

  “Right.”

  “So, uh, I stopped by your coffee shop this morning. That Kaitlin you told me about? She’s something, huh?” He pulled his feet abruptly off the coffee table. “She heard us play last year and came again to Waukesha. She had all these ideas about how we can market ourselves bigger, all these fantastic ideas for our Web site and stuff. She thinks we’re good.”

  “You are good.”

  “Yeah, so I invited her to come hear us play Bad Genie Rock Lounge tomorrow.” He cleared his throat, drank some more beer. Belched. Put his feet back up on the table. Took them down again.

  Edgar started grinning; he punched his brother lightly on the arm. “Kaitlin’s great. A great girl. Kind of looks like Jessica, too, don’t you think?”

  “Shut up.” He glowered at Edgar. “She couldn’t stop talking about you. At least at first.”

  “Yeah?” Edgar held out his hands, what-can-I-do? “You know, I just rake them in. Can’t help it. It’s my animal magnetism.”

  “Yeah, squirrel or something.” He whapped Edgar on the shoulder. “Chipmunk, maybe.”

  Edgar chuckled and got up to take his shower. Date number two with Melanie to look forward to. Stoner out of the picture. Right now he felt like a freaking lion. “Good luck with Kaitlin. And thanks for keeping it zipped Friday.”

  “You already thanked me. Don’t start getting all girlie on me or I’ll do Melanie up against the wall and make you watch.”

  “Ha.” He wished he could say no way would Melanie go for that, but maybe she would. He wouldn’t. He wanted her all to himself.

  And he was starting to allow himself the luxury of hoping that someday soon he’d have exactly that.

  11

  MELANIE STOOD IN THE middle of the kitchen, listening to Edgar’s car drive away. She didn’t feel the way she usually felt after first dates. Usually she was keyed up and blissful. All night—or all morning—she would replay key moments and giggle, hugging the memories to her.

  Tonight she felt somber and uneasy, close to tears. Images of Edgar seemed to be competing in her brain. The sweet geek who was her best friend. The sex god in the darkness. The powerful fencer wielding his sword skillfully and unmercifully.

  Freud would have a field day with that last one.

  She poured herself a glass of water, drank it down, refilled it and emptied that one, too. She needed to talk to someone; she needed company. Jenny was out tonight with Noah. Alana would be in bed already, asleep or not asleep with Sawyer; she wouldn’t want to have an extended girl talk at this hour. Of course she didn’t really enjoy extended girl talks at any hour, though she was getting better since Sawyer. Ironically, usually when Melanie was upset she talked it out with Edgar. In this case, obviously, she couldn’t.

  Her cell rang; she fumbled for it eagerly. Maybe it was Jenny. Alana. Edgar…

  It was Stoner. Again. What did he want that he’d call her twice in one evening? “Hi, Stoner.”

  “Hey, Mel-a-nie.”

  She waited for the thrill of his deep voice singing her name. It came, but only halfheartedly. “What’s up? Sorry I couldn’t call back sooner.”

  “Out on a date?”

  “Uh. Yes.” She screwed her eyes shut, praying he wouldn’t ask anything else.

  “I was sitting around tonight with nothing to do. I started thinking we should, you know, get together and everything.”

  “Oh.” Sitting around with nothing to do. The date was about his boredom, not about her. That she understood. That she’d encountered time and time again with guys she’d dated. She closed her eyes, remembering Edgar, that second night in bed when she’d been trying so hard to push him away. Because, Melanie. It’s always been about you for me.

  “What’s up with you Friday? My band isn’t doing anything. You can show me the city nightlife. What do you say?”

  What the hell was she supposed to do now?

  The answer came immediately. Go. The deal with Edgar was three dates with him, as many as she wanted with his brother. She knew exactly what to expect out of a date with Stoner, and could handle every aspect of it. City nightlife with hot rock ’n’ roll dudes. Like a performance of a show she’d been in a thousand times. Nothing would surprise her, nothing would unbalance her.

  Nothing would touch her.

  “Sounds great, Stoner.”

  “Excellent. Pick me up at nine?”

  She pictured herself showing up at his apartment where he and Edgar sat in the living room, and selecting Stoner for that evening’s entertainment.

  God, no. “Can you wait outside so, um, I don’t have to find a place to park?”

  “Sure thing, babe. Friday at nine. I’ll be there.”

  “See you then.” She clicked off the phone.

  Okay then. A date with Stoner. Just him and her experiencing the wild side. Ho-hum.

  She grimaced, set the glass by the side of the sink and trudged upstairs, lonely, empty, wistful for something she couldn’t grasp.

  This wasn’t how she was supposed to feel with a date with Edgar behind her and one with Stoner to look forward to. For one thing, the date with Edgar was supposed to make everything crystal clear. He was a friend or he was her lover. Instead, he was sort of both. And sort of neither.

  A glimmer of light shone from under her mom’s bedroom door. Mom and Alana, the great sleep-deprived duo, though Alana was apparently sleeping better since Sawyer. Since Sawyer—SS. Like BC or AD, a.m. or p.m. An enormous change, before and after.

  Melanie hesitated in the hallway. Did she want to talk to Mom? She might be the best person, since she had plenty of, uh, experience with men. Maybe she’d felt like this about someone. Maybe she’d figured it out and could share her insight.

  At the same time, after practically shoving Melan
ie into bed with Edgar, she wasn’t going to be an impartial listener.

  However, at this hour, she was the only listener available.

  Melanie knocked softly, thinking how remarkable it was to be coming to her mother with a problem. She’d probably gone before with scraped knees and broken toys, but this was a first. An important first, one she couldn’t have foreseen even a couple of weeks ago.

  A pause, then a soft, “Come in, Melanie.”

  Tricia was sitting in a cross-legged meditation position. Her eyes were open, but her face and body were absolutely still and calm. Peaceful. What a concept.

  “You need to teach me that, Mom.”

  Tricia patted the floor next to her. “No time like the here and now. How was your date?”

  “Oh, it was …” She gestured aimlessly. “It was…”

  To her horror, her voice shook. A tear fought for the right to spill down her cheek, and won.

  Tricia grinned in delight. “Threw you for a loop, huh?”

  “Is that what this is?” She plunked down beside her mom, surprised to feel comfortable in the mother-daughter moment. “Does meditation cure loops?”

  “It cures everything. Come on. Sit comfortably. Rest your hands on your knees, palms up. If you want you can touch your thumb and index finger together.”

  “Okay.” Melanie crossed her legs, arranged her hands, pictured herself chanting “ommm” and had to stifle a giggle. “I’m ready.”

  “First, relax. Start at your toes, go through every body part, finish at the top of your head. Then let your mind go blank.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “How do I know I’m doing it right?”

  “Because you can’t do it wrong. If you want, set yourself thinking about Edgar. Sometimes you can hear an internal voice giving you true answers.”

  “Oh, man, I’d love some truth.” She settled herself, relaxed her muscles toes to crown, and tried like hell to clear her mind. That part didn’t work so well. She tried some more. Her knee started to ache. Her nose itched.

  “Stop wiggling, Melanie. Just be.”

  “I’m trying.” She tried again. And then again. And found herself getting frustrated. But the vision of her mother’s clear, calm face kept her going.