She's the One (Lowcountry Lovers Series Book 2) (13 page)

“Your mother’s not the only one who never got over losing your daddy, honey. But losing is part of love. It hurts like hell, but love is worth it.
You’re
worth it.”

Melissa gathered up the skirt, jumped down off the pedestal, and couldn’t get out of that dress and away from Mitzi’s place fast enough.

Minutes later she was stuck, waiting for the turning bridge. But with her car pointed in the direction of the IOP; the tightness in her chest from seeing the bride who would never be hadn’t subsided. Was Mitzi right? Did everything between Melissa and Shane boil down to daddy issues? Was that why she focused on finding a match for everyone but herself?

It had been eighteen years since she lost the man she loved most in the world. Eighteen years, and just the thought of James Walter Bliss made her chest ache, her eyes sting. He and his band had been headed up the coast for a month long tour of bars and college towns. She and her dad never said goodbye before he left because he always said he’d be back before she knew it. Just ‘I love you’, but the day he left, Melissa hadn’t said anything.

On the road for weeks at a time, Daddy had missed so much of Melissa’s growing up, and she had just enough teenager in her to resent that he was going to miss yet another major event, the annual school band concert. She’d talked the stuffy band director into adding guitars into the some of the songs on the playlist. Melissa was playing lead and she
needed
him to be there.

“I love you ’Lissa,” he had said, kissing her on top of the head. “Be back soon.”

Melissa didn’t even take her headphones off, just gave him a go-to-hell look and scribbled some numbers in her notebook, pretending to do math. She couldn’t do her homework, couldn’t concentrate on anything. She was in the throes of garden-variety teenage angst, where every stinking, little thing was a huge catastrophic issue.

He tugged one of the headphones off. “Come on ’Lissa. Don’t be like this,” he said as Eric Clapton crooned ‘Change the World’. He smiled, pleading with her to do the dance they always did, she adored him no matter what, and he came home whenever his gig was up. “It’s kinda cool Clapton’s back on top. I can tape some of his earlier stuff for you if you want. Everyone says he’s as good as Stevie Ray or BB King, but I don’t think so. What do you think?”

His attempt to speak the language he taught her before she could walk wasn’t going to work this time. Melissa gave him another go-to-hell look and put the headphones back on. For the first time in her life, she
wanted
him to go. Get the hell on the road where he was happiest, where he didn’t have to be a father. Clapton hit the bridge of the song. Daddy mouthed goodbye, and that was the last she saw of him. A car accident. A freak accident, so the police had said. But he was gone and Melissa had hurt so bad, she wanted to die then. Now, she was just a mess of tears and runny mascara. Mitzi was right, love was scary, but nothing compared to loss.

Melissa wasn’t going there; she needed to get back to
her
element. She swiped at her tears, grabbed her phone from the console, and told Siri to call Jonathan Greer. He picked up on the first ring. Maybe that meant he wasn’t busy, although he was one of the most gorgeous, most revered, fine artists in all of Charleston.

“Melissa Bliss. I hope you’ve reconsidered my offer.”

“To be tortured by you? I don’t think so.”

“If only you could sit still.”

“If only,” she echoed incredously. “Hey, wanna do me a favor?”

“You got me to donate that painting to the Turtle Team fundraiser last year. It sold for three hundred dollars; I think that’s enough of a favor. And a travesty.”

“Hey, it went to a good cause.” The Isle of Palms Turtle Team was vigilant about protecting sea turtles and educating the public. Problem was, since they got on Facebook and with local bestselling author Mary Alice Monroe promoting their cause, attendance at nest inventories had gone from attracting a handful of people to hundreds. This wreaked havoc on the local traffic, not to mention what it probably did for the baby turtles—the ones who couldn’t escape the nest on their own who were gently coaxed out their nest only to see as many as seven hundred spectators.

“I even helped mark nests last week. Very cool thing,” he said.

During nesting season, members of the Turtle Team walked the shoreline of both the IOP and Sullivans Island every morning, marking any nests that were made the previous night.

“But three hundred dollars? That was a five thousand dollar painting, easy. Next time I want a minimum bid slapped on whatever I donate.”

Next time
, Melissa smiled;
mark him off the list of iffy donors
. “I’m calling to offer you thanks in the form of a gorgeous blonde.”

“My mom works part-time at Mitzi’s; I know all about your track record, Melissa Bliss. Jesus, I’m only twenty-four; I’m not interested settling down.”

“Okay, would you be interested in meeting one of the richest women in the country, who is gorgeous,
and
a patron of the arts?” Melissa was guessing on that part, but wasn’t that what really rich people did with their money?

“Who?”

“Savannah Sinclair.”

“No shit? God, I used to have the biggest crush on her when she was running with Paris Hilton and Nichole Richie.”

“Well, she’s not that girl anymore, but she’s still beautiful.”

“Are you kidding? She’s gorgeous, but she’s almost a recluse.”

“Compared to you, maybe. Anyway, Savannah’s easing back into dating, and I thought you’d be the prefect guy to show her the Charleston art scene, maybe take her to dinner. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to pawn her off on you. You’re a fun guy, and Savannah’s just started to date again. Besides, you’re not right for her.”

“Says who?”

“Says the expert. Just take her out and show her a good time. Show her your work. You never know, you might have a fabulous time and sell one of your astronomically, expensive pieces.”

“Okay. Sure.”

She gave him Savannah’s number and ended the call.

S
hane wrote another item on the list that was now three pages long. Cassie was screwing with him, making him do all this shit that didn’t need to be done because she was the buyer and he was supposed to be her humble servant. Walking through the house, she made every effort to brush up against him, touch him, and she was getting pissed that he wasn’t affected by her seduction, not one little bit.

“Is that everything?” he asked, scanning the list of imaginary imperfections.

“No,” she snapped. “What is it with you, Shane? We have a history together. The least you could do is have sweaty contractor sex with me on the kitchen counter.”

He blew out a breath and shoved his hand through his hair. What had he ever seen in this woman? Oh, hell, he knew what he saw in her, legs up to her neck, the libido of a sixteen-year-old, a very talented but smart mouth. “Cassie, I moved on from us years ago.”

She nodded, eyes narrowed, probably at the very idea that he would turn down sweaty contractor sex. “With the matchmaker?”

“You know about—”

“Jesus, Shane, everybody
knows
. She’s a Lowcountry legend. But that’s not the point.”

“Look, if you bought this house expecting—”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I love the island; this is a birthday present from my dad.” She meant the house, of course, but Daddy had the resources to buy her the whole island if she wanted. But why this house? Why him?”

“If you want to walk on this deal, Cassie, I’ll give you your earnest money back.”

“Why don’t I do something for you for a change?”

“Like what?”

“Like help you get the girl.”

He laughed. “I’ve never needed any help getting the girl.”

“Until now,” she said, fighting back a wicked grin. “She wants you, or she wouldn’t have deserted me.”

“Melissa had an appointment.” Or she said she did. Where did she go? To the office? Home? To that asshole’s place? Shane couldn’t let his brain go there.

“
Yeah, right
,” Cassie said.

Shane was looking over her shoulder into the backyard, the privacy fence didn’t look quite right. Probably wasn’t level; he’d have to add that to the list.

“Let’s make her jealous.”

“No.” He didn’t want to be obligated to Cassie Vandermeer for anything, much less a three-page punch list. And did he really believe she really wanted to help him? One thing was for sure, she was a conniving woman who always got what she wanted. And up until five seconds ago, she wanted him.

Her eyes bugged out like she’d just had an epiphany. “Oh, my God. You’re
in love
with her, aren’t you? I’ll bet you can’t stay away from her for more than a day, two tops, so that takes absence makes the heart grow fonder out of the mix.”

Was he that easy to read? How does she know this shit?

“Whether you like it or not, the next logical step is jealously.”

Cassie had some twisted logic.

He heard the front door open. His guys showing up to save him from this bullshit because honest to God, the woman was nuts.

Before he knew what hit him, Cassie laid into him with a kiss, soft and wet, moaning into his mouth. He didn’t want her. He pushed her off. She toppled back and he grabbed her at the waist to keep her from falling off of her ridiculously high heels. He peeled her off of him, and was ready to take some more ribbing from the guys who were undoubtedly enjoying Cassie’s show.

“Hi,” she said all breathy, her hand still fisted in his shirt. “Melissa.”

Shane wheeled around to see Melissa standing in the doorway and his guys behind her. She looked at him like he’d just smashed her favorite guitar.

“Melissa.” He pushed past Cassie, but Melissa had already bolted out the door.

“Boss. Getting some on both sides,” Rowdy said, elbowing the guy next to him in the ribs.

Shane wanted to punch him. “Melissa, wait.”

But she’d already slammed her door and was driving away. He jumped into his truck and followed her to Island Bliss. She was out of her car and running for her office. Damn Cassie.

“Melissa,” he barked.

Jesus, he’d never chased a girl, not literally. It had to count for something that he’d gone after Melissa. Right?

He tore into the office and was body-blocked by two hundred and fifty pounds of angry, black woman. “Can I
help
you, sir?”

Shane tried to push past Pearl, but she wasn’t having any of that. “I need to see Melissa.”

“She’s not in.”

“Pearl, I just saw her come in five seconds ago.”

“Well, she’s not in in,” she growled. “You want to see her. Make an appointment like the rest of the world.”

“Okay, give me an appointment.”

Pearl flipped through the calendar on her desk. “October 23, that’s a Friday. Work for you?”

“That’s six months from now.

“Well, Shane, I don’t know what you did to that girl, but it’s gonna take at least six months for her to speak to you again, and if she’s not available that day, you’ll just have to reschedule,” Pearl barked and then lowered her voice. “That girl doesn’t cry, but she’s a mess. What the hell did you do?”

Shane wasn’t about to tell Pearl that Cassie had kissed him in front of Melissa, that it probably looked like he was kissing her back. “I need to talk to her, Pearl.”

Pearl had always liked Shane, now she seemed like a mama bear protecting her cub from anything. Especially him.

“That girl won’t admit it, but she loves you,” she bit out. “If you broke her heart, you make it right. But if that’s who you are, Shane Carver, do her a favor and don’t come back.”

“J
ack Johns on line one,” Pearl hollered.

Melissa smiled to herself. Savannah seemed to be having the time of her life, working her way down her must-see list. For the past three weeks, she’d had a different date almost every night. Gorgeous Lowcountry men with sexy Southern drawls had wined and dined her, and Melissa would bet her beach house that Jack was ready to beg her to call off the dogs. The red light blinked, Jack Johns could wait a little longer. Savannah sure had.