More Than A Vow. Michelle Reid
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been there. She’d responded to his touch.
Yet she reviled him too much to let things progress.
While he could think of nothing but touching her again. Grazing the warmth of her neck with his fingertips had been the height of eroticism. Kissing her again had inflamed him.
The fact that she was driving him insane, mentally and physically, told him it was time to cut ties altogether. It was time to forget her and move on with his life.
* * *
Melodie had always read her horoscope, trusted in karma and hoped fate really did have a plan for her. For the sake of her sanity she clung to the belief that good things happened to good people if they stuck in there long enough. The Gautier men were masters of cynicism, but she was different. And she wouldn’t crumble under the weight of the dark side like her mother had, taking the first path out of life that was offered. She would fight and prevail.
Then Roman Killian had happened.
He’d not only shown her that she couldn’t trust her own instincts and judgment, he’d provoked bitterness and pessimism in her. A depressing attitude lingered in her long after her encounter with him in his limo, an aimless feeling of “what’s the point?”
That wasn’t like her, but she couldn’t seem to shake the mood. Her only hope was that fulfilling her mother’s wish for her remains to float down the Seine would help her find closure and move on. Accomplishing that was the reason she had sold her soul and taken the job campaigning with Trenton Sadler.
And, since fate had a sense of humor, that seemed to demand she face Roman Killian again.
As coincidences went, winding up at a New York gala he was attending was a kick in the teeth from the karmic gods, but what had she done to make the planets align against her so maliciously?
Maybe it was just a fluke. She was traveling in higher circles these days, literally traveling, finally seeing New York if only from a hotel window. Her new employer was actively seeking corporate introductions, happy to be seen hobnobbing with lobbyists and special-interest groups.
He was exactly like her father, and she’d made her deal with Trenton Sadler like a blues guitarist shaking hands with Satan at the crossroads. He didn’t know she was a senator’s daughter. No, he thought she was simply a surprise talent he’d rescued from a temp agency, one who’d dabbled in catering and event planning. But Melodie was pulling out every maneuver she’d ever learned at Daddy’s knee. Trenton loved her for it.
She didn’t care for him at all, hated the work because it had everything to do with political-party advancement and nothing to do with the needs of the people, but she was good at it, and the compensation was more than a livable wage. And Trenton had promised her a bonus if he got the nomination he was after. It would be enough to square up her line of credit and fund her trip to Paris.
That was the only reason she was living out of a suitcase along with the rest of Trenton’s handlers, renting black strapless evening gowns and pressing palms while conjuring a vapid smile. Tonight she’d lost track of whether they were buying or selling, whether this was a fund-raiser or a charity auction or a grand opening. All she knew was that she was in another hotel ballroom. She felt as if she’d come full circle, accomplishing nothing with her life, when she glanced toward the entrance and saw him.
Her heart gave a lurch.
Roman Killian had the uncanny ability to make whatever he wore fall into the background so all she noticed was the magnificence of the man. His head was tilted down to a beautiful blonde by his side, but with a disconcerting suddenness he jerked his head up and scanned the room.
Melodie watched with morbid fascination, thinking she was imagining what she was seeing, but as she watched, Roman cataloged the crowd like a robotic laser shone from his eyes. The blonde continued speaking, but he didn’t seem to notice. His visage slowly rotated toward Melodie, as though he was computing every face in the room until—
He stopped when he spotted her.
She was almost knocked back a step. All of her froze except her pulse, which galloped like a spooked horse, kicking and squealing. His hair was extra rakish tonight, suggesting that the woman’s fingers had ruffled it. His jaw looked hard and polished. His expression was completely unreadable as he kept his gaze fixed on her.
“Who is that?” Trenton asked beside her, rattling her out of her stasis.
“Roman Killian.” Her throat was dry. Her entire being went numb as Roman flicked his gaze to Trenton and came back to her before he turned his attention to the blonde, his expression inscrutable.
“Tech-Sec Industries?” Trenton asked, forcing Melodie to bring her mind back from a limo and a kiss that had been every bit as profound and memorable as the ones in France and twice as much of a letdown afterward. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a connection like that?”
“I don’t,” she said huskily. “We’ve only met once. Twice.” Three times. “We’re not friends,” she assured him.
“Sure about that?” Trenton asked, giving her the kind of male once-over he’d started sending her way this trip. She had watched him flirt openly with more than one impressionable young supporter in his office, despite having a wife who kept the home fires burning. He hadn’t gone out of his way to hit on Melodie, though, preferring to bark orders for coffee and sandwiches in her direction. Being the only female traveling with the group seemed to have elevated her to a target, however.
“I’m sure,” she affirmed, recalling her last words to Roman, which had been most unfriendly. She tried to clear the catch from her throat as she added, “I should leave, or I might become a liability.”
“No,” he said with a thoughtful glance at the way Roman had joined a group near the bar, but had positioned himself so Melodie was in his line of sight. “Introduce us. Be as nice as you have to be to get him on my side. I want his support.”
We don’t always get what we want, Melodie wanted to say.
“He wasn’t on the list,” she reminded him. Mrs. Sadler had stayed home for this whirlwind junket. The rest of the team had stayed in their rooms and Melodie was standing in as Trenton’s date, something he seemed to think gave him the right to hands-on access. She’d been finding ways to sidestep, but she had her assignment when it came to ensuring the right connections were made. Roman Killian wasn’t one of the names in the room they had to touch base with, though.
In fact, if she’d known he’d be attending, she would have wormed her way out of this evening altogether. Mentally reviewing the guest list, she recalled a Swedish actress had been on it. Roman must be her plus one. Why his being involved with someone should cause a pinch near her heart, Melodie had no idea, but she didn’t want to get close enough to see how deep his involvement with the stacked blonde went.
Trenton didn’t care about her needs, though. “Introduce us,” he repeated firmly.
Paris, she thought.
“If you like.” She gathered her courage and found a stiff smile.
It took time to work through the crowded ballroom. They had to stop midway to listen to a speech about the refurbishment of this iconic hotel, one of New York’s first skyscrapers. Applause happened, balloons fell, dancing started.
Melodie tried to pretend she wasn’t in an intricate waltz with Roman, one in which she took two steps forward and sidestepped one. She was aware of his every shift and turn as he and his date worked the room. When he took the actress to the dance floor, Melodie told herself she only noticed because he was Trenton’s quarry. They were gaining on him.
He came off the dance floor feet away from where she stood with Trenton, practically an invitation to approach. The tray of champagne appeared to have been their goal. Roman took two and turned his back on Melodie as he handed a flute to the blonde, but the opportunity was at hand.
Melodie felt his nearness like the heat