A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(2)

"I'll pass on the duck," Dylan said, taking his time to look her over  again. He noted that, in this light, her hair was darker than he'd  thought earlier. She wore a faded Beatles T-shirt and a charming diamond  heart pendant, which settled against her chest just above a silhouette  of Lennon's head. Eyes darting up again, he noticed a pink flush of  warmth on her cheeks. It made him want to cup her face with his hands.         

     



 

"Sometimes I think I shouldn't be allowed out in public," she said  apologetically as she handed him a wad of napkins that she grabbed from  behind the bar.

He accepted the napkins and dabbed absently at his shirt. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"What, by spilling a drink all over you?" she asked, smiling through the sarcasm. "No, I managed to make it out unscathed."

"No harm done, then," he said. "Let me make it up to you. You apparently  drink-overly sweetened toxic waste? I'll get you another," Dylan  flagged the bartender down again.

Green Eyes' smile twisted into a smirk. "You're going to buy me a drink to make up for the one I drenched you in?"

"Of course. After all, you are talking to a gentleman," Dylan said. It was true enough, though he didn't always behave like one.

"Is that what they're calling it now?" she drawled, clearly skeptical.

"You don't care for gentlemen?" he asked, instinctually moving closer.

Her T-shirt was drawn tight across the planes of her body, and it was  plain to see that she wasn't completely unaffected by him-at least  physically speaking. Dylan, encouraged, slid his tattooed arm along the  bar behind her back and pressed his forearm to the base of her spine.

"I love gentlemen," she said. "I just wasn't aware a member of that endangered breed of men was standing in front of me."

"What can I say?" Dylan asked, undeterred by her biting wit. "I'm  bringing chivalry back." He leaned in even closer, pressing into the  bubble of her personal space. He caught a whiff of her and-God fucking  damn. She smelled amazing. A single whiff was worth the sticky mess of  the drink that was already adhering itself to his skin.

"You're bringing something back, alright," she said, laughing. For a brief second, she leaned back against his arm.

Dylan just barely resisted the urge to pump his fist into the air in victory. Oh, yes, he thought. She will be mine.

"So, you're one of those types who likes to play the smartass?" he teased. "Even though I'm being so charming."

"Charming, huh? I'm sorry, I didn't notice."

"Ouch," he said, bringing his free hand to his chest. "A mortal wound. That's two I've sustained from you in one night."

She scoffed. "Firstly, you can't sustain two mortal wounds-if you live  long enough to see a second, the first one couldn't have been mortal,  could it? Secondly, a spilled drink isn't a wound by any stretch of the  imagination."

"I wasn't referring to the drink. I was referring to when you left without telling me your name."

She rolled her eyes and let out a throaty groan. "Dude. Lame."

He laughed, still convinced that he would have her. "Alright, so the  cheesy stuff doesn't seem to work on you, huh?" Dylan ducked down,  lowering his lean, angular face to hers until they were practically  breathing the same air. Another pleasurable shock of surprise ran  through his body when he noticed that she didn't pull away. "I thought  you might prefer a little cheesiness to the truth."

Her breathing quickened, almost imperceptibly so. "And what is the truth?"

Dylan moved his hand to the heart-shaped pendant she wore around her  neck. He touched it gently, more focused on the heat of her skin through  the thin cotton fabric of her shirt than the necklace itself. "The  truth is that if you give me one night, I will absolutely wreck you."

Her breath hitched in her throat, but that was the only indication she  gave that his words affected her at all. She licked her lips, lowering  her lashes as she looked him over.

Dylan felt a hint of smugness welling up inside-oh, yeah. She was  definitely interested now. He could already see himself spreading her  out on his bed, stripping her down to nothing but that cute pendant  around her neck and blanketing her body with his own. He was so consumed  by that image that he barely noticed she had leaned in even closer,  bringing her mouth right to his ear.

"You're right," she whispered.

He blinked, almost caught off guard by her admission. Excitement began  to grow inside of him. If he was right, there'd be no reason for them to  stay in this bar for a second longer-not when they could be naked in  his bed.

"Of course I'm right," he said, pressing his thumb gently to the small of her back to encourage an answer.

"You're right that I liked the cheesy guy better," she said, lowering  her voice to a tone so soft and sexy that Dylan barely even heard the  words before she began to move away.         

     



 

"Oh, now you're just ruining it to ruin it," Dylan protested, calling after her before she could get too far.

"Yeah, I don't think so," she said without looking back.

"Do you really not know who I am?" he asked, the words escaping his  mouth before he could stop them. He knew it made him sound like a  douchebag, but what else could he say? What else could he do? He  couldn't just let her go again.

"You're a persistent guy who thinks he's a lot cuter than he actually  is," she answered, finally turning back to him. "Which is saying  something because, objectively speaking, you're pretty fucking  cute-though I'm sure you're well aware of that." It was true; his high  cheekbones, sharp, defined jaw, and deep blue eyes had always had an  alluring effect on women. And Dylan had always taken advantage of that  fact.

She approached him again, digging in the back pocket of her skintight  jeans. Her hand emerged with a twenty-dollar bill, which she held out to  him. "Here. To replace your shirt. Or buy another drink. Whatever."

"Keep it," he said, though he did reach his hand out to wrap his fingers  around hers. With the bill trapped in her palm and their hands locked  together, Dylan could feel something sparking between them. He  practically burned with the desire to tuck her beneath his arm, to make  sure every other asshole in this place kept their goddamn hands to  themselves, even to protect her from guys like himself. It was enough to  make him feel lightheaded, which in turn irritated him.

He didn't enjoy needing anyone-especially not a girl who wasn't interested.

Yet, for some reason unbeknownst even to him, he said, "Well, let's  start with the positives and work from there to find some common ground,  a conflict resolution technique. You did admit that you think I'm  cute."

She laughed again. "See? Persistent." She shook her hand a little,  though she didn't pull it away from him. "Anyway, just take the cash. I  feel bad."

No way, Dylan thought to himself. He wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet. "I'll take it the next time I see you."

She gave him a flat look that implied she thought he was slow.  Enunciating each word as though she were speaking to a small child, she  said, "There. Won't. Be. A. Next. Time."

He shrugged and let go of her hand, leaving the twenty dollar bill in her palm. "There will be if you want me to take that."

Her lips parted, like she was about to argue, but she simply shook her  head instead, a tiny and mysterious smile tugging at the corners of her  lips. It made Dylan want to taste that mouth, to draw the breath right  out of her lungs.

"Until next time, then," she finally said, with a hint of something  undefined in her voice-excitement? Trepidation? Whatever it was, it  wasn't something she was looking to explore at that moment. She was  already on the move again, slipping away from him for the third time  that night.

"Tell me your name, at least," he called, raising his voice to be heard.

She looked back at him over her shoulder, her red hair falling over one  side of her face as that damned sexy streak of blue framed the green of  her eyes. "Melody," she said after a moment. "My name is Melody."

Of course.

Melody.

Dylan rolled the name around in his mind, grinning like a crazed idiot  as he watched her exit the bar. Melody was almost inconceivably hot, but  he had been with tons of inconceivably hot women before. He was forced  to admit that there was more to it than that; she was the kind of woman  that could haunt him if he let her. Dylan was determined not to let that  happen. He was determined to win her over. Then they would thoroughly  enjoy a few nights of wild passion together, and when things eventually  ended-like they always did-they'd both be satiated and ready to part  ways afterward. As was his way.

He wasn't going to let this temporary rejection discourage him, because  that's exactly what it was: temporary. She'd come back to him-and even  if she didn't, he'd find her eventually.