Surprise Me.... Isabel Sharpe
“Very comfortable.”
“Your brother…”
“Won’t be home. He’s visiting a friend in…Chicago. Lastminute thing.”
Melanie frowned. Edgar hadn’t told her that. Though, if he wasn’t going to be home…
“Well.” She turned. Stoner’s lips touched the corner of her mouth. “That might change things.”
“I hope it does.” He lingered a blissful second, then drew back and took her hand for a formal shake. “Very nice to see you, Ms. Mel-a-nie.”
“And you, Mr. Stoner.”
“I hope to see you again—” he brought her hand to his mouth for a gallant kiss ”—very soon.”
“We’ll see.” She kept her cool, all the while dying to jump down from her stool and go skipping around the bar shrieking yes, yes, yes!
Nothing in this world, nothing, fired her up like a sexy guy wanting her. The pumped-up thrill took over her, made the world a fabulous place bursting with possibilities.
Stoner said goodbye to Jenny, left one last piercing blue look with Melanie and exited the bar, probably sure they were staring at his fabulous shoulders and ass disappearing into the crowd, which they both were.
“What did he say? What’s going on? Are you going to meet him later?”
Melanie smiled dreamily. Why fight it? She knew inviting random encounters was a bad way to live, knew it was a crazy way to look for love, knew men who approached her like this were not in the mood for any kind of real relationship, but heck, she couldn’t resist. She had her mother’s genes. And look at Mom—fifty-one and only recently deciding it was time to renounce her self-indulgent lifestyle.
Which meant Melanie had another twenty-five years of fabulous high after fabulous high to look forward to. Starting tonight, with the current man of her dreams, through an unlocked apartment door into a nice-size room holding a big, clean and ready-for-action bed.
MELANIE STRODE DOWN Water Street in the cool night air, checking her watch by the nearest streetlight even knowing it would be exactly one minute later than the last time she checked it. Which put her at forty-five minutes past midnight, enough time, she hoped, for Stoner to have made it back from wherever he’d gone, gotten into bed as promised, and to have given up on her and fallen asleep.
After Stoner left, she’d had another mojito with Jenny at The Wicked Hop, then they’d gone to hear a band at the Milwaukee Ale House, where she drank a lot of water and nursed a beer for appearances, not wanting to show up in Stoner’s bed too drunk to function. Before it was time to leave, though, she’d poured back one last mojito to make sure any inhibitions—she didn’t have many—would be on hold.
So now, well-hydrated, high on adrenaline and that last quickly downed drink, she was on her way.
To Stoner. Oh, yeah.
At the entrance to Edgar’s funny little building, she pushed through the outer door…then stopped. Oh, no. Stoner might have made sure the door to Edgar’s apartment would be open, but the inner door to the building was locked. She’d have to buzz him to let her in, which wasn’t the end of the world, but announcing herself would spoil the fun of creeping into the bedroom and jumping him in the dark. Not that he’d be totally surprised, but she never had actually told him whether she’d show, so she had a shot at a stealth attack.
Maybe someone would come out? Thursday night, it could happen this late. She peered through the glass, hand next to her face to block the light from the foyer. The last several steps of the staircase were visible…and empty.
Three impatient, fidgety minutes later, they were still empty, but the now familiar row of buzzers next to the door gave her another idea. Sledge, the artist/sculptor/jeweler, lived in Edgar’s building on the second floor, the guy she’d met when Edgar took her to buy a necklace for his longtime “girlfriend,” who turned out, incredibly, not to exist.
Melanie frowned, boozily distracted by a new thought. What had happened to that necklace if there was no girlfriend to give it to? Maybe the whole scene had been a charade and Edgar hadn’t really bought it. Except that made no sense either because—
Focus, Melanie. The point was that she could buzz Sledge and say she needed to get into Edgar’s apartment, that she was early for a rendezvous and wanted to wait until he got back from…somewhere. With luck, Sledge wouldn’t know Edgar had gone to Chicago.
Good plan. Except it was rudely late to be bothering anyone.
She was reaching for Sledge’s buzzer anyway when jeans appeared on the stairs inside the building, and then rapidly, the rest of a young guy. Perfect.
“Hey there.” He held the door open for her with a friendly smile. “Forget your key?”
“Visiting a friend in 3C.”
“Excellent. Have a good night.”
“Thanks!” Oh, she so would, partly because of him.
Inside, she hauled a mirror out of her bag for one last check, even though she’d already primped in the ladies’ room at the Milwaukee Ale House. Lipstick—check; eyelashes darkened and curled—check; blush not too garish—check; hair appropriately mussed—check; clothes.
Melanie interrupted her routine. A sudden vision appeared, of her mother preparing for a night out with whatever man she was seeing that week or month, exactly like this, checking lips, eyes, cheeks, hair…with Melanie as a little girl watching, torn between admiration for her mom’s beauty, envy at the way she got to fancy herself up, and anxiety, not knowing if the date would last all evening, all night or all week, leaving her and Alana to fend for themselves.
Funny she’d never noticed the similarity of their preparation before, though of course she realized she was like her mom in a lot of other ways, ahem. The association probably occurred to her now because Mom had come back to Milwaukee, apparently hoping to repair the damage she’d done to the relationship with her daughters.
Melanie shoved the mirror into her purse, unwilling to continue even if the connection to her mother was only superficial. Melanie didn’t have kids she was leaving alone and scared tonight. She was the only one who’d shoulder any consequences for her actions.
She started up the stairs, not wanting to dwell on negative thoughts. Tonight was a mission of pure fun.
Up one flight, turn at the landing, up another to the second floor where Sledge lived—she tiptoed past his door—up another, turn at the landing, up again to floor three, apartment C, the door that was supposed to be unlocked.
Yes. She turned the knob silently, took a deep breath, body thrumming with excitement, and slipped into the dark interior. She’d known Edgar two years but had only seen his place for the first time last week, and had been shocked. From the mismatched, horrible way Edgar dressed, she’d expected his apartment to be a typical bachelor disaster.
Nope.
The place was nothing like him—or nothing like the way she thought of him. Sophisticated, stylish, elegant even, cherry-toned woods and green plants and a colorful—and very clean—fish tank, state-of-the-art kitchen, impressive library… Add that to Stoner’s revelation of a country-club upbringing and it didn’t equal the dorky, disorganized friend Melanie thought she knew.
She moved into the living room, eerily lit by the glowing light above the bubbling tank. Straight ahead to the right, a door, ajar as Stoner said it would be. Melanie headed for it, walking silently, hoping he was asleep. She wanted to slide into bed, wake him gently with kisses and caresses, get their intimacy off to a slow, tantalizing start.
Through the door, and into.
The bathroom. Arghh.
She made a quick exit and tiptoed down the hall a few feet to the next door. Also ajar. She pushed it open halfway,