want all black, or all dresses for that matter," he said, not seeming to expect an answer, but more to clarify his thoughts. "I don't think uniformity of any kind would fit our flamboyant witch." His wink made Melody feel worlds better. Then he stretched his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and slid his hands into his pockets. "That flapper dress, by the way, would better suit a show where you prepare something formal—say, a New Year's Eve dinner party."
"Excellent," Melody said, surprised and impressed.
"But if we're talking pilot, here," Gardner added. "And market-testing the audience, I don't think we want off-the-wall flash, either, not yet. Give us another turn-around, will you, Mel?"
Melody did two slow turns, and given their twin expressions, she knew that Logan and Gardner had stopped examining her as men but were now regarding her with an eye toward audience appeal and ratings.
"That's the dress," Logan said with the air of a man who's aware he's made a good decision. "For my money, that number is first-show, secure-the-market perfect."
"Agreed," Gardner said looking pleased. "Melody, my little witch, you're a natural. Now all we have to do is find a theme song." He checked his watch. "Listen, I've got a lunch appointment, and I won't be back afterward, but thanks for the fashion show, Mel. You helped me with another idea. See you both on Monday. Have a great weekend."
"Another idea?" Logan said as he watched Gardner walk down the hall. "He means another fantasy."
"Fantasy?" Melody responded from beside him. "You're talking about his reflection in the mirror, right?"
Logan turned a raised brow her way. "I'm impressed. You already have him pegged." Then he gave himself a symbolic slap upside the head. "What am I talking about? You had him pegged before you met him. How did you know that a stage production interview would work?"
Melody shrugged. "One: I was applying for a stage production. Two: He's a man, so I tried to stimulate his male… thinking."
"You
were
playing up to him, but you got upset when I said so."
"Because you implied that I'd put out to get the job."
Logan winced. "I didn't, but forget I brought it up." He stepped near enough to enslave her with the sexy, spicy scent of him and shook his head. "Let me tell you again how sorry I am for giving you that impression." He seemed so earnest, so… He made her forget everything except some deep-seated need inside her to touch him, something primitive and almost, but not quite, stronger than her will to resist.
Their eyes met, and held, as if he sensed her struggle. She wished he'd open his hand and cup her cheek, lean in and touch his sculpted lips to hers. She wanted him to give her a reason, any reason, to touch him back.
When he did, finally, lean close, Melody's heart tripped, and her insides pulsed in anticipation. Then he grinned, his eyes crinkling with mischief, shattering the taut thread of need inside her, distancing them without separating them, and Melody was grateful.
"Care to tell me which of those soft, skimpy little numbers you're wearing under there?" he asked with a sexy rasp that might have turned her weak at the knees, if she weren't so shocked by the question.
With a gasp, she stepped back and shook her head, denying the request, marveling over the kind of teasing that did not fit her pinstriped image of him, though it unnerved her in a new and different way. He had best not step out of stuffed-shirt mode too often, she thought, too close to caving for her own good.
"I've already seen everything," Logan coaxed.
"Not while I was wearing it, you didn't."
"Hey, I'm willing." The tension eased with Logan's laugh, but Melody was left off balance and wanting. "I'm ready," he said.
Me, too
, she thought, stepping away. "Sorry about my booby-trapped bag," she said, going for safer ground.
"Booby-trapped is right." Logan went to pour a lime seltzer and offer it to her. When she shook her head, he sipped it thoughtfully. "It
"Excellent," Melody said, surprised and impressed.
"But if we're talking pilot, here," Gardner added. "And market-testing the audience, I don't think we want off-the-wall flash, either, not yet. Give us another turn-around, will you, Mel?"
Melody did two slow turns, and given their twin expressions, she knew that Logan and Gardner had stopped examining her as men but were now regarding her with an eye toward audience appeal and ratings.
"That's the dress," Logan said with the air of a man who's aware he's made a good decision. "For my money, that number is first-show, secure-the-market perfect."
"Agreed," Gardner said looking pleased. "Melody, my little witch, you're a natural. Now all we have to do is find a theme song." He checked his watch. "Listen, I've got a lunch appointment, and I won't be back afterward, but thanks for the fashion show, Mel. You helped me with another idea. See you both on Monday. Have a great weekend."
"Another idea?" Logan said as he watched Gardner walk down the hall. "He means another fantasy."
"Fantasy?" Melody responded from beside him. "You're talking about his reflection in the mirror, right?"
Logan turned a raised brow her way. "I'm impressed. You already have him pegged." Then he gave himself a symbolic slap upside the head. "What am I talking about? You had him pegged before you met him. How did you know that a stage production interview would work?"
Melody shrugged. "One: I was applying for a stage production. Two: He's a man, so I tried to stimulate his male… thinking."
"You
were
playing up to him, but you got upset when I said so."
"Because you implied that I'd put out to get the job."
Logan winced. "I didn't, but forget I brought it up." He stepped near enough to enslave her with the sexy, spicy scent of him and shook his head. "Let me tell you again how sorry I am for giving you that impression." He seemed so earnest, so… He made her forget everything except some deep-seated need inside her to touch him, something primitive and almost, but not quite, stronger than her will to resist.
Their eyes met, and held, as if he sensed her struggle. She wished he'd open his hand and cup her cheek, lean in and touch his sculpted lips to hers. She wanted him to give her a reason, any reason, to touch him back.
When he did, finally, lean close, Melody's heart tripped, and her insides pulsed in anticipation. Then he grinned, his eyes crinkling with mischief, shattering the taut thread of need inside her, distancing them without separating them, and Melody was grateful.
"Care to tell me which of those soft, skimpy little numbers you're wearing under there?" he asked with a sexy rasp that might have turned her weak at the knees, if she weren't so shocked by the question.
With a gasp, she stepped back and shook her head, denying the request, marveling over the kind of teasing that did not fit her pinstriped image of him, though it unnerved her in a new and different way. He had best not step out of stuffed-shirt mode too often, she thought, too close to caving for her own good.
"I've already seen everything," Logan coaxed.
"Not while I was wearing it, you didn't."
"Hey, I'm willing." The tension eased with Logan's laugh, but Melody was left off balance and wanting. "I'm ready," he said.
Me, too
, she thought, stepping away. "Sorry about my booby-trapped bag," she said, going for safer ground.
"Booby-trapped is right." Logan went to pour a lime seltzer and offer it to her. When she shook her head, he sipped it thoughtfully. "It
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