A Profiler's Case for Seduction(90)

She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed and sought the sweet oblivion of sleep. It didn’t take long. She dreamed she was dancing, executing perfect pirouettes and leaps that suspended her in midair as music swelled in her chest, filled her soul.

Ballet, jazz and tap, she did it all and she did it well. She’d been born to dance and in her dreams she was all that she was meant to be.

The stark light of morning sunshine streaming through the nearby window pulled her from her night of happy dreams and into the glare of her harsh reality. The right foot that she’d once concentrated so hard to point had betrayed her, now dangling in a permanent point, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t flex it to a flat, walking position.

Peripheral neuropathy and drop foot were the official diagnoses that had put her in a wheelchair and taken away her career as a professional dancer.

For three months she’d had every neurological test there was in an attempt to find the problem and fix it, but nobody had been able to pinpoint the source of the condition, and it had been written up as lumbosacral plexopathy—nerves that didn’t work right, for some unknown reason.

With the sun getting brighter and the clock reading almost eight, Melanie made the clumsy move from the bed to the wheelchair and wheeled herself into the adjoining bathroom.

Thankfully the bathroom shower was equipped with all the special equipment it required for her to be independent. And she had to be independent. Other than Tilly there was nobody in her life and she knew the odds of having anyone else in her life on a permanent basis were minimal. She was damaged goods and would only be a burden on anyone.

It was twenty to nine when she finally left the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in a pair of soft fleece navy blue jogging pants and a white and navy T-shirt.

She headed for the kitchen, her heart beating just a little bit faster than usual, knowing that today was the day she would start to share her house with Adam Benson.

While her emotions screamed that it was a big mistake, her logical side reminded her that renting the upstairs to him was a necessary evil. Her mother had loved this house and now it was all that Melanie had, her only security in the world. Although it had been paid off several years ago by her mother, the yearly real estate taxes would soon be due and she didn’t want to give the obnoxious Craig Jenkins any opportunity to sneak in and grab the house out from under her because she couldn’t afford to pay them.

She was sorry she’d ever contacted the real estate developer, but at the time she had called him, her intention had been to sell the house and get back to her dancing life in New York City as quickly as possible.

Now she had no life to return to and this house in the small Oklahoma town where she’d grown up had become her source of safety, her only real security.

It took her only minutes to fix a pot of coffee, and by the time she’d poured her first cup of the morning, a knock sounded at the door.

Nervous tension jumped in her veins as she glanced at the clock and realized it was precisely nine and her new roommate of sorts had arrived.

When she opened the door to let him in, she was once again struck by his hot handsomeness. Clad in blue jeans that hugged the length of his long legs, and in a gray T-shirt that made his eyes appear more gray than blue, he looked as if he could be a model for the quintessential cowboy.

“Good morning,” he said as he swept his black hat off his head.

“Morning,” she replied. “You’re right on time.”

He smiled at her and she felt the warmth of it deep in the pit of her stomach. “I’ve always thought that punctuality was a virtue.” He gestured toward the curb, where a black pickup was parked. “I’ve got things to move in. Should I do it now, or do you want me to sign the agreement and give you a check first?”

He carried with him an energy that seemed to pulse in the air around him, an energy that seductively drew her to him. “We can take care of the business end of things after you’ve moved everything inside,” she replied. She wheeled herself backward. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re finished.”

She didn’t wait for his response. Quickly pivoting her chair around, she escaped into the kitchen and moved to the table that held her cup of coffee.

Maybe it was because she’d isolated herself for the past six months that Adam touched a chord inside her. He appeared so big, so capable, with strong shoulders that could hold the weight of the world.

Since her mother’s funeral seven months ago the only people she’d seen on a regular basis were Tilly and Craig Jenkins and various doctors and nurses in Oklahoma City. Craig reminded her of a snake, with his hooded dark eyes and slender frame. Surely it wasn’t any wonder that she’d react to the first attractive man who entered her small, narrow sphere.