A Sheikh for Christmas Page 7

  Her spirits remained buoyant all the way back to the condo and even after. In fact, she laid awake in bed until well after midnight, reliving the wonderful kiss she and Daveed had shared earlier. And yes, maybe it had happened as a ruse to fool the press. It had still felt real and exciting and she couldn’t wait to try it again with him, if he was open to it. Memories of the first night she’d spent at the condo returned as well. They’d sat up half the night just talking and laughing and getting to know each other a bit better. Restless, she tossed aside her covers and sat up. If she was having trouble sleeping again, then maybe so was Daveed.

  Anticipation bubbling inside her, she got up and tiptoed over to the door, pressing her ear against it to listen for any sounds of someone else being up, but heard nothing. Undeterred, she silently opened her door and snuck out into the hall. Pitch blackness greeted her. Tiptoeing down to the living room she peeked around the corner, but spotted only empty furniture and lightly falling snow outside the windows. So much for another romantic interlude with Daveed.

  As she crept back to her room, Melody couldn’t help stopping outside his closed door and pressing her hand against the wood. He was in there, sleeping most likely, and she was an idiot to think a guy as great as him would want anything to do with a loser like her. She had no job, no money, no prospects for the future. But maybe, just maybe, she could change all that.

  And starting tomorrow, she would.

  * * *

  Daveed laid wide awake that night until the moon sank below the horizon in the pre-dawn gloom, despite feeling exhausted. Truth was, battling his growing attraction to Melody was getting to be much harder than he’d anticipated. He’d sworn not to let her in, not to fall for the impulsive, warm-hearted, disorganized woman Heath had warned him about, but then he’d kissed her.

  Cursing under his breath, he rolled over, punching his pillow harder than necessary before flopping down atop it again. He’d only done it to help her avoid another tabloid storm like the one she’d experienced after her break-up with Heath. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep, but no such luck. With nothing but blackness surrounding him, all he could picture was her wide-eyed look of surprise in the pub when he’d pulled her close and captured her lips with his. The way those pretty blue eyes of hers had slid closed as her body relaxed into his. The sweet, spicy taste of her that he could still catch a trace of in his mouth. Damn. He groaned and covered his face with his arm. What the hell had he been thinking?

  He hadn’t been. That was the problem.

  Frustrated and restless, he finally gave up any hope of slumber and headed to the bathroom for a shower. It was way early still. Only four-thirty, per the digital clock by his bedside, but he needed to burn off his excess energy or else he’d end up charging across the hall and picking up with Melody right where they’d left off at the pub.

  As he soaped up and rinsed, memories of their time after the pub at the ice rink resurfaced. Of course, it didn’t help that she’d opened up more to him, showing him one of the places she’d loved as a child. Sharing such experiences with her only made him yearn to know more about her, which was ridiculous. He jammed off the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, then shaved and brushed his teeth. The last thing he should be thinking about right now was getting involved with Heath’s ex. Not when Murph’s sister was still missing.

  Finding Aileen should be his top priority. End of story.

  After pulling on clean clothes and running a comb through his damp hair, he headed out early to start his work for the day, lingering only long enough to fix himself a travel mug of coffee to drink on his way to see the guys. Melody was still asleep, thankfully, and he was careful to leave quietly so as not to disturb her.

  Two blocks and one subway ride later, he was standing outside the Brooklyn brownstone Murphy rented. Despite the early hour, lights blazed brightly from the front windows. None of the guys slept late these days. Too much time in the military and too little incentive to stay in bed had them rising early and ready to work. His traitorous mind briefly reminded him that he could have a reason to sleep in back at Heath’s condo, if he’d just knocked on Melody’s door, but Daveed pushed those thoughts away. He’d made his decision. He’d stay away from her.

  He charged up the front stoop of the red brick brownstone and knocked on the door. Murph answered and let him inside, grinning. “You dog.”

  “What?” Daveed frowned.

  Heath was sitting at the dining room table with a newspaper in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. “Dumbass. I warned you and here you go and kiss her anyway.”

  His heart dropped to his toes as he moved in beside Heath at the table. Those bastard paparazzi didn’t waste any time splashing those photos all over the front pages, did they? He gave Heath a side glance then raked a hand through his still damp hair. “I was trying to get her out of a sticky situation.”

  “Yeah?” Heath raised a blond brow at him. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  “Shit.” Daveed took his now-empty travel mug over to the kitchen counter and refilled it from the fresh pot of coffee Murphy had made. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s just all those cameramen were swarming around and you’d bailed and so I acted on impulse. I seriously don’t know how you deal with that crap every day.”

  “Now you know why I keep a low profile and stay busy.” He scratched his beard. “Changing my looks doesn’t hurt either.”

  Murphy snorted. “And here I thought you just liked the Grizzly Adams persona.”

  “Actually, it’s starting to itch and I’d love nothing more than to shave the damned thing off, but not until after we find Aileen.”

  At the mention of his sister, good-natured Murph’s smile fell. “Man, I’m really starting to get worried about her. It’s not like her to disappear with no trace. I wish we could find some concrete evidence of what was going on with her before all this happened.”

  Daveed set his mug down on the table and took a seat across from Heath. “I might be able to help there.”

  “Yeah?” Heath set his paper aside. “What’ve you got?”

  “I think we deciphered some clues from those garbled notes Aileen left behind.”

  “We?” Murph asked, his expression coy.

  “Melody helped. She’s actually quite good at puzzles and figuring out things like this. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have found these words on my own.” He took his time bringing up the photos on his phone, more to avoid Heath’s narrowed stare than anything. “Have a look at these.”

  Heath took the phone and scowled down at the screen. “Corruption? Illegal? Fraud? Software?”

  “Yep.” Daveed sat back and sipped his coffee. “I circled them in red so they’d be easier to spot. Melody also deciphered an address on one of the other notes you sent over. 124 West 52nd Street. She and I went over there yesterday, before we met you at the pub. Didn’t find anything though. Just another high-rise filled with offices—an eco-energy company and some financial firm. Both multi-national. No sign of Aileen ever being there at all.”

  “Well, fuck,” Murphy said, his broad shoulders slumping.

  “Exactly.” Daveed agreed, before shifting his attention back to Heath. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

  6

  Melody woke up with a new determination bubbling inside her. After spending hours tossing and turning and wrestling with her growing affection for Daveed, she came to a realization. If she wanted to start a new life, one she could be proud of—one that Daveed might be proud of too—then she needed to change her thinking.

  She got up, got dressed, then headed out to the kitchen, only to find a note from Daveed beside the still-warming coffee pot stating that he would be gone most of the day working on Aileen’s case with the guys and that he’d see her later.

  After fixing herself a mug of caffeine, she took a seat on one of the stools at the bar and grabbed
paper and a pen. Daveed was always so fond of his lists, maybe she’d start using them too. But the longer she sat there, staring at the blank page, the more she realized lists really weren’t her style. She was more of a spontaneous, go with the flow, see where the adventure takes you kind of gal. She shoved the paper and pen aside.

  If she wanted to be self-sufficient, she’d need money. She’d already pawned her ring to get the funds to return to the States, so all she had to her name at the moment was the two thousand left in her personal savings account and the clothes in her suitcase. The money in her account wouldn’t go far in an expensive city like New York. The clothes might be a different story.

  Sliding off her stool, she took her coffee back to her bedroom and began pulling everything out of her suitcase to see what she had. Beside the jeans and T-shirt she was wearing, she also had four designer dresses from the most recent resort collections. Three pairs of handmade designer pumps. One Judith Leiber evening bag and assorted lingerie from Paris.

  The underthings were out as far as resale, but the rest was up for grabs. There were several vintage shops she frequented in Chelsea. She’d stop by them later and see if they’d be interested in the dresses and shoes. The Leiber clutch—shaped like a sparkly pink seashell—she’d take back to Neiman’s. It was a one-of-a-kind that she’d picked up on a whim on her way to the airport with Jefferson that ill-fated night after her play. At the time, she’d thought she’d carry it during the wedding ceremony. God, what an idiot she’d been.

  Inventory taken of her things, she walked back out to the kitchen to go through the newspaper classified ads. No matter what she got for her stuff, she’d still need a steady source of income for the future. But as she went through the ads, her heart sank. Most of the decent paying positions required experience, which she didn’t have. Living under her parents’ roof all her life meant really the only things she knew about were fashion and style. Sure, she had a degree from Vassar, but Daveed had been right to laugh. Liberal Arts was far too broad a topic to give her any real marketable life skills.

  Still, she bolstered her resolve. Melody refused to go through the rest of her life feeling as crappy about herself and her situation as she did right now. She wanted to be self-sufficient, respected, a productive part of society.

  With that in mind, she headed back to her bedroom again and selected the least flashy, most business-like outfit from amongst the other clothes she wasn’t considering selling. Other than shorts and jeans and T-shirts, she somehow managed to pack a black pantsuit. Pairing it with a white top and a pair of black ballet flats, she looked nearly executive. Shoulders squared, she combed her extravagant curls back into a tight ponytail at the back of her neck then squinted at her reflection. She looked staid and boring and exactly what she imagined all those nameless people who worked in those nameless skyscraper offices looked like on a daily basis. Hopefully, it would be enough to at least get her foot in the door at some of these companies that were hiring.

  She finished her coffee and a piece of dry toast, then grabbed the paper and her much more conservative black Coach bag and headed out to get herself a job. But the first business she stopped at required a resume, which she didn’t have. The next was the same.

  At the third location, the receptionist immediately recognized Melody from the tabloids and she quickly fled that place when the woman started speaking loudly about the whole debacle with Jefferson Hanks.

  Dejected, Melody walked back outside and headed down the sidewalk toward the next job listed in the paper. It was still early and she was determined to get a job. But after four more rejections without even so much as an interview, her self-esteem was starting to take a hit. She headed back out of the latest generic-looking office building bedecked with steel and glass and stood at the corner, waiting in the crowd to cross at the light. She was near Times Square now and as she headed to the next listing in the classifieds, she spotted a hair salon. The sign outside said they were running a special that day of cut-and-styles for women for only twenty dollars. Mel had never spent less than three-hundred at her old salon, but she was on a budget now and this seemed like a great deal. But it was the stares and salacious gossip of the receptionist from earlier that made the final decision for her.

  Yep. She was making a change all right, and a new cut seemed like the embodiment of that. Mel headed inside the shop and was immediately ushered to a station in the back of the salon by a young guy with purple hair and multiple piercings. He looked like a disheveled Johnny Depp and had a wicked smile that made her want to take all sorts of risks. He was also gay, as evidenced by the many pictures of him and his partner plastered up all over his work area.

  “My name’s Matt and I’ll be your stylist today. So what are we doing, hon?” he asked, giving her an assessing stare in the mirror. He slipped the holder from her ponytail and ran his fingers through her thick blond curls. “All this hair. So pretty.”

  “Thanks.” She gave him a sad smile. “But I’m ready for a change.”

  “Yeah?” Matt paused, his wicked grin returning. “Like what?”

  She glanced around at the various photos hung on the wall and spotted one of a European-looking model with white-blond hair and a short, spiked style. She’d never gone that drastic in her life, but now seemed as good a time as any. Mel pointed to the picture. “Like that.”

  Matt’s brown eyes widened. “Really?”

  “You don’t think it would look good?”

  He pulled her hair back from her face and fussed with it for a minute. “With your bone structure, I think you could go completely bald and still be gorgeous. But it’s a huge change. Are you sure you’re ready for it?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Yes, I need a change.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like that socialite? The one who ran off with that actor and got splashed all over the tabloids?”

  Her heart skipped and she swallowed hard. “That’s why I want a change. Don’t want to be mistaken for that person ever again.”

  “Good choice, hon.” Matt winked and directed her back to the shampoo area. “Right this way. I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

  An hour later and several inches of hair gone, Mel stared at herself in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself, which was a good thing. The short, angular cut highlighted her high cheekbones and gave her a more urban, street-wise appearance. With the bangs ruffling across her forehead and the artfully tousled spikes on top of her head, she looked more mature, wiser, stronger. It was exactly what she wanted and needed.

  “It’s spectacular,” she said, kissing Matt’s cheek. “Thank you!”

  “Thank you for letting me help with your transformation, hon.” He walked her to the front counter and rang her up. After she’d paid, he gave her a final wink and wave. “Go get ‘em, girl.”

  “I will.” She headed back out into the sunny New York afternoon with renewed confidence in herself and her job search. Unfortunately, that didn’t translate into any interviews or job offers. By the time four o’clock rolled around, she was sitting back in the same coffee shop that she and Daveed had eaten in a few nights prior. Even they weren’t looking to hire a waitress with no experience. Ugh. Adulting sucked.

  After paying for her coffee and salad, she started home toward the condo, clutching her coat tighter around her as snow began to fall. About a block from Heath’s place she spotted a new street vendor setting up near the corner. The man was selling Christmas trees and even as defeated as she felt, she couldn’t help the holiday spirit bubbling inside her. She still had her clothes to pawn and that Leiber bag to return to Neiman’s the next day. What was a few more dollars spent if it would brighten the holidays for her and Daveed? Besides, the proceeds from the vendor were all going to a local youth charity program. She’d be making merry and helping people all at the same time. Win-win.

  She chose the smallest tree the guy had and he was kind enough to recrui
t one of his helpers to carry it up to the condo for her. She wasn’t sure what time Daveed would be back, but she wanted to least have it set up in the corner before he returned. She tipped the helper then closed the door behind him and stared at the undecorated condo. She had a tree, but nothing to put on it. That wouldn’t do at all.

  There was a dollar store on the opposite side of the street from the condo and Mel made a beeline for it. She picked up twinkle lights, gaudy red and green and gold balls, lots of sparkly garlands and even a couple of camel ornaments for Daveed, thinking they might remind him of his homeland. At the register, she added a sprig of fresh mistletoe to her purchases. It all came to under thirty bucks total and once again, she relished the thrill of a bargain.

  Maybe there was something to be said for this new life after all.

  Back upstairs she unwrapped all the decorations and set about festooning the little tree she’d bought. It was only about four feet high and nearly as big around, and maybe it wasn’t as lavish as the towering pines her parents had professionally decorated in their Park Avenue mansion, but she loved the little tree anyway. This was all Melody’s and she couldn’t have been prouder. She got so caught up in her decorating that she lost track of time and soon it was dark out.

  Daveed walked in a short time later, ice crystals twinkling off his dark brown hair and the shoulders of his black wool coat. She glanced over at him and her breath caught at the sheer masculine handsomeness of him. She’d never noticed before, but now that he’d told her about his royal heritage, she could see it in his proud stance, the noble air about him. He was every inch a ruler, a sheikh, a gorgeous man who she wanted more and more each day.