leave, nor even to turn his head.
He didn't so much as bat an eye, because he didn't want to miss one incredible moment of Melody's scintillating fashion show—no matter the cost to his pride and self-respect, never mind his poor deprived body.
Maybe he was a masochist, sitting here anticipating more of her fascinating torture. He must be sick, letting himself be titillated by the array, imagining the possibilities—like sticking your fingers into a light socket, again and again, just to test the buzz and relive the zap.
He should put some space between them before he was lost for good. So what if his son adored her? So what if she'd solved his day care problem? Shane needed stability and security, neither of which Logan could equate with Melody Seabright.
Look what she did to him. She morphed him—despite his best efforts to remain unaffected—tempted him to disgraceful behavior, and had him coming back for more. One look from her, and he lost his grasp on the staid and practical executive producer he'd worked so hard to become, and became that bad-boy troublemaker from the tenements again.
Man, he hated that. He'd been slapped with too many reminders of his failures over the years. He didn't need any more.
Bad enough his mother insisted on staying in the tenements, though he could now afford to get her something better, like a house or condo of her own. Bad enough he was the one who'd turned her into a workaholic in the first place—stealing from a convenience store at twelve years old, no less—to the point that he couldn't get her to stop working. Now here's Melody with the ability to knock him back on his ass as well.
Logan didn't know which of them was worse, Mel or his mother, but his mother, he had to keep around.
MELODY felt the stab of Logan's penetrating gaze like pins in a voodoo doll. He hadn't so much as blinked at the twenties flapper dress she'd modeled, or the fifties strapless, and they looked awesome.
Big deal, carrying her clothes into the station had caused him embarrassment.
Sure, he was pissed. He had a right. But get over it, already. His anger, she discovered she could handle, but his disinterest bothered her a great deal—more than it should, she supposed. Like she wanted anything to do with another pin-striped tight ass.
Nevertheless, Melody stepped directly in front of Logan and nudged his foot with the toe of her forties platform shoe, until he looked up and "saw" her.
"Tell me what you think of this one," she said, drawing his gaze by rotating her hips close enough for her polka dots to cross his eyes.
No comment. She'd gotten his attention, though. That tick in his cheek was a dead giveaway.
Melody moved a straight chair to the center of the room.
As much to snap him out of his snit as to reveal the surprise at the front of her dress, she raised a foot, placed it on the chair seat, and leaned in. On cue, the dress slid open, front and center, to reveal her bent leg to her thigh, her shoe's three-inch heels and thin ankle straps, adding pure sex to the pose.
Logan paled and swallowed.
And that's what you get for sulking , Melody thought. "This is a shirtwaist designed by St. Laurent in the seventies," she said, "to reflect the style of the forties.
I think red polka dots on black fits the show perfectly and might work for the pilot.
The unique style sends a subliminal, "Watch me make magic," kind of message."
Gardner rose and walked around her, examining her from every angle. "There's a lot I like about this one, though it doesn't have the same allure as that straight black dress with the foot of beaded fringe at the hem."
"The flapper dress, you mean." Melody turned to Logan, pleased to note that he had not taken his gaze from her. "What do you think?" she asked.
Logan shook off his trance and loosened his tie. "Who knew that polka dots could be so… so—"
"I know," Mel said, unable to stifle her grin. "Kind of snappy, kind of understated. Lively, you know, without
He didn't so much as bat an eye, because he didn't want to miss one incredible moment of Melody's scintillating fashion show—no matter the cost to his pride and self-respect, never mind his poor deprived body.
Maybe he was a masochist, sitting here anticipating more of her fascinating torture. He must be sick, letting himself be titillated by the array, imagining the possibilities—like sticking your fingers into a light socket, again and again, just to test the buzz and relive the zap.
He should put some space between them before he was lost for good. So what if his son adored her? So what if she'd solved his day care problem? Shane needed stability and security, neither of which Logan could equate with Melody Seabright.
Look what she did to him. She morphed him—despite his best efforts to remain unaffected—tempted him to disgraceful behavior, and had him coming back for more. One look from her, and he lost his grasp on the staid and practical executive producer he'd worked so hard to become, and became that bad-boy troublemaker from the tenements again.
Man, he hated that. He'd been slapped with too many reminders of his failures over the years. He didn't need any more.
Bad enough his mother insisted on staying in the tenements, though he could now afford to get her something better, like a house or condo of her own. Bad enough he was the one who'd turned her into a workaholic in the first place—stealing from a convenience store at twelve years old, no less—to the point that he couldn't get her to stop working. Now here's Melody with the ability to knock him back on his ass as well.
Logan didn't know which of them was worse, Mel or his mother, but his mother, he had to keep around.
MELODY felt the stab of Logan's penetrating gaze like pins in a voodoo doll. He hadn't so much as blinked at the twenties flapper dress she'd modeled, or the fifties strapless, and they looked awesome.
Big deal, carrying her clothes into the station had caused him embarrassment.
Sure, he was pissed. He had a right. But get over it, already. His anger, she discovered she could handle, but his disinterest bothered her a great deal—more than it should, she supposed. Like she wanted anything to do with another pin-striped tight ass.
Nevertheless, Melody stepped directly in front of Logan and nudged his foot with the toe of her forties platform shoe, until he looked up and "saw" her.
"Tell me what you think of this one," she said, drawing his gaze by rotating her hips close enough for her polka dots to cross his eyes.
No comment. She'd gotten his attention, though. That tick in his cheek was a dead giveaway.
Melody moved a straight chair to the center of the room.
As much to snap him out of his snit as to reveal the surprise at the front of her dress, she raised a foot, placed it on the chair seat, and leaned in. On cue, the dress slid open, front and center, to reveal her bent leg to her thigh, her shoe's three-inch heels and thin ankle straps, adding pure sex to the pose.
Logan paled and swallowed.
And that's what you get for sulking , Melody thought. "This is a shirtwaist designed by St. Laurent in the seventies," she said, "to reflect the style of the forties.
I think red polka dots on black fits the show perfectly and might work for the pilot.
The unique style sends a subliminal, "Watch me make magic," kind of message."
Gardner rose and walked around her, examining her from every angle. "There's a lot I like about this one, though it doesn't have the same allure as that straight black dress with the foot of beaded fringe at the hem."
"The flapper dress, you mean." Melody turned to Logan, pleased to note that he had not taken his gaze from her. "What do you think?" she asked.
Logan shook off his trance and loosened his tie. "Who knew that polka dots could be so… so—"
"I know," Mel said, unable to stifle her grin. "Kind of snappy, kind of understated. Lively, you know, without
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