Chapter Three
Dalton's Magic Rule # 4: Practice with the right tools.
Overnight bag with toiletries. Check.
Sexy underwear. Check.
Contraception. Check.
Hotel room.
Duh.
Melina stared at the three brass numbers affixed to Max's hotel room door. They hadn't changed in the five minutes she'd been standing there looking at them. She had the right room. She had everything she needed. Let the sex education begin.
Right?
Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and tried to talk herself into sticking the key card into the little slot. Inserting part A into part B had never been her problem. It's what happened afterward that she clearly lacked skill in.
Still, she hesitated.
Something about this felt wrong.
Could she really get naked with Max? Touch him? Let him touch her?
The image of him looming over her in bed, surrounding her with warm skin and hard muscles, certainly wasn't unappealing, but it wasn't exactly pulling her tractor either.
Maybe there really was something wrong with her.
“Face it, Melina,” Brian had said to her after she'd found him in bed with one of his veterinary residents. “A man needs more than a stiff board underneath him when he wants to screw. Doesn’t matter how well-cushioned it is. You show more passion for the bugs in your lab than you do me. Take my advice. Get some practice in before you try to nab a guy again.”
She hadn't broken down at the accusation. In fact, she'd handled herself like the lady she was, even letting him take the dog they'd adopted from the pound a year before. Then she'd called Lucy and Grace, and the three of them had thrown darts at Brian's pictures while drinking sangria. Still, the knowledge that what she and Brian had been doing was “screwing” when she'd thought they'd been making love had haunted her for days.
And the worst part was, he'd been right. In previous relationships, she'd tried to be an active lover, only to score low when it came to evaluations. With Brian, she'd been content to let him take the lead, thinking that's what he wanted. Apparently, screwing was more complicated than she'd thought, and like it or not, she was going to get the practice that Brian had so cruelly suggested.
In scientific terms, it simply made sense.
Lady in public. Whore in the bedroom. She could do that, right?
Five minutes later, still standing in the same location, she thought, apparently not.
She leaned her forehead on the door and thumped it twice. The second time, not so gently.
What are you waiting for?
Max was gorgeous. Sexy. He cared about her. Plus, she'd sworn him to secrecy. Other than Lucy and Grace, who'd expect a full report, no one would know about this but the two of them. And if he couldn't bring out her inner slut, who could?
Rhys's name popped into her head.
Just like that, the image of her and Max morphed into her and Rhys. Of course, the picture didn't change all that much given they were twins, but her reaction to it did. It was as if it had been two-dimensional before but suddenly had turned real. She could feel the heat of Rhys's bare skin, see the sweat dotting his forehead, and hear his groans of pleasure as he moved against her. Inside her.
And lo and behold, she was even on top this time, normally not one of her favorite positions.
Closing her eyes, she valiantly ignored the sudden wetness between her legs.
Yep. How twisted was that? They looked identical, but only one of them got her hot. And it was the one who didn't even care enough about her to call.
Max cared, she reminded herself. And they were good enough friends that they could do this. She'd just look upon it as an experiment. Two days of trial runs and data analysis. Then Max would get back on a plane to Vegas or wherever his next show was, and the next time they saw each other, she'd be happy and in love with Jamie. Maybe she'd even be pregnant if the next Dalton Twins’ Magic Show tour went on for a while.
The image of her holding a baby cinched it. She stuck the card in the slot, waited for the green light, and pushed the door open.
* * *
In the lobby bar, Rhys watched Max check his watch for about the tenth time. His brother was acting weird, no two ways about it. Leaning back in his chair, he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Spill it.”
“Huh?”
“What's going on? You've been acting like a nervous Nellie since I got here. What did Melina say that you couldn't tell me on the phone?”
Max's brow quirked. “Nervous Nellie?”
“You know what I mean, butthead. Now what the hell's going on?”
“Butthead? Your skill with words is mind-boggling.” At Rhys's low growl, Max held up his hands. “All right already. Will you just ease up? I already told you it wasn't an emergency.”
Rhys barely refrained from grabbing his brother by the throat. “Your exact message was: 'Something weird is going on with Melina. Get your ass on a plane right now.' You refused to answer any of my calls, so that's exactly what I did.”
“Would you have gotten on the plane if I'd said I needed your advice about something?”
Rhys slammed his palms on the table. “Damn it, Max, I don't have time for this. You have ten seconds to start talking or I'm driving back to the airport.”
“It's her birthday.”
Stunned, Rhys stared at him for several seconds before answering. “Yeah, I know. That's why I told you to tell her happy birthday.” It was also why he'd thrown her present in his suitcase during his frantic rush to get a flight. Just in case.
Max lifted his drink—water instead of his usual beer—and took a healthy swallow. Rhys narrowed his eyes. What was going on here?
“All that stuff you said about her wanting the white picket fence and two-point-two kids? That stuff doesn't matter,” Max said softly. “You're hurting her.”
The accusation caught him off guard, but he couldn't deny it either. He looked away.
“She's not an idiot, Rhys. She recognizes that you've pulled away. That you don't call. You don't visit. Hell, she's certain you forgot about her birthday. And why wouldn't she? You two barely say anything to each other anymore.”
Rhys gritted his teeth. “She works with her bugs. Visits her parents once a month. Dates safe, nice guys. What else is there to know?”
“How about what that so-called ex-boyfriend of hers did to her?”
Rhys sat straight up. Was that what Max's call had been about? What had been the loser's name? Bradley? Brian? Yeah, Brian. Had he hurt her? Hit her? A slow but intense wash of anger began to pump in his veins. “What?”
Max shook his head in disgust. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
Rhys stood, braced his hands on the table, and got nose to nose with his brother. “I'm not forgetting anything. Tell me. Did he hurt her?”
Max leaned back and spread out his hands in a welcoming gesture. “And what if he did? What are you going to do about it? Scare him to death so he pisses his pants like Scott Thompson did?”
“I'll kill him,” Rhys spit out from between his teeth.
Max stared at him, then grinned. “I believe you would.”
“What are you grinning at? I'd think you'd be right in line with me.”
“I know I would. I'm just surprised you said it out loud. Where Melina is concerned, you're prone to changing the subject.”
Straightening, Rhys raked his hands through his hair. “Since when has there been any question that I care about Melina? She's one of the sweetest…” Sexiest. Hottest. Most intriguing. “…women I know, and we've known her for years. Hell, Mom and Dad would get in line to beat the guy up, too.”
“Then why? If you care so much about her, why don't you finally lay it on the table?”
Rhys shook his finger. “Oh no. We're not having that conversation again. Stop playing games, Max. I just want to know if Melina's okay and whether I'm going to have to kill anyone tonight.”
Max shrugged. “She's okay. Her boyfriend bruised her pride, that's all. She's more hurt by your callous actions than anything else. I know you didn't want to come here, but I'm not apologizing. You can damn well say happy birthday to her face.”
Rhys practically fell into his chair. He wanted to rail at his brother for his deceptive tactics, but his own guilt weighed on him heavily. He hadn't thought that his pulling away would hurt Melina that much. Then again, he hadn't thought beyond wanting to stop his pain. But Max was right. Melina was his friend. It wasn't her fault he wanted her to be more. “First thing in the morning, I promise.”
“Good. You still going to fly to Reno?”
“Right after I see her.”
“We don't have to be in Reno for another few days. You're obsessing—”
“The last time we worked the Magic Underground, the backstage crew was a disaster. And you weren't the one caught trying to do an Omni Deck in front of five hundred people only to flounder when it didn't happen. I'm not going to let something like that happen when the Seven Seas contract is at stake.”
His brother reached out and placed his hand on Rhys's arm. “You've always been the brains behind our success, Rhys. I know that, and so do Mom and Dad. No one can take that success away from us, even if we don't end up getting Seven Seas.”
A little stunned by Max's admission, Rhys said, “We'll get the contract so long as everything goes as planned.”
Max gave a curt nod, then stood. Rhys looked at him in surprise. “Where are you headed?”
“There's a blonde at the bar who's eyeballing us. Unless you've changed your prudish ways and want to join us—”
Rhys didn't even bother looking at the woman. “Go ahead. I'm going to turn in. I'm beat.”
“Yeah. You really should turn in.” Max turned, paused, then turned back. “It's been a hell of a decade on the road, don't you think?”
“It's been fun. The best.”
Max nodded, then grinned. “Get all the rest you can, you hear? I'll see you not-so-bright-and-early Monday morning at the Magic Underground.”
Rhys watched his brother approach the blonde, who looked at Rhys and waved. Rhys smiled and waved back, his public persona firmly in place, but he swiftly turned away.
He dismissed the idea of having another beer. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said he was tired. He'd had to catch two layovers to fly from Kentucky to Sacramento. Of course, being that it was last-minute, the flight had cost a small fortune. In the end, it hadn't mattered.
Even before Max had called, Rhys had been getting ready to book a flight. Max's call had just added some panic to the long trip. He couldn't let Melina think he'd forgotten her birthday. As much as it would solidify the distance he'd been gradually establishing between them, he couldn't hurt her that way. Instinctively, he knew it would be a hurt he couldn't repair, and the thought of making that final break had been terrifying.
As had been his sudden, inexplicable certainty that she needed him.
Maybe it was some kind of twin telepathy or something.
Melina had clearly confided her relationship troubles to Max and sworn him to secrecy. The idea of either Melina or Max keeping secrets from him was unsettling but not surprising. Why would she confide in him when he'd been doing his best to push her way?
More disturbing was the idea that her ex had hurt her.
Possessiveness swamped him, but he easily pushed it down. He'd had so much practice at it, after all. Melina wasn't his, but she was still someone extremely special to him. If someone had hurt her, even if it was just her pride, he'd pay for it. Rhys would make sure of that.
“Excuse me?”
Rhys glanced up at the soft, feminine voice. It was the blonde from the bar. Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder but saw no sign of Max.
“Your brother was telling me about your act. He's going to get his car. I was wondering if you'd mind company. My friend Jocelyn over there,” she pointed to a rail-thin brunette who was sitting at the bar and watching them, “is a doll, and I'd feel horrible abandoning her.”
But she'd still do it, Rhys thought, trying not to judge his brother's taste in women. He'd made plenty of bad decisions in his life, so he had no business judging anyone. Shaking his head, he began to rise. “I'm sorry, but I was just about to—”
“Hi.” The brunette strode up to his table and held out her hand. “I am so thrilled to meet you. I absolutely love your magic act. Would you mind if I join you?”
Sighing, Rhys sat back in his chair and watched as the blonde backed away, waved, and bee-lined for the exit, presumably to meet his brother. He focused on the brunette. She was decked out, fit, and had a charming smile, but he just wanted to go up to bed. Alone. The last thing he wanted was to talk about magic right now. But he didn't want to be rude to a fan either. “So where did you see the act?” he asked, catching the eye of the waiter and indicating he wanted another beer.
* * *
As Melina entered the hotel room, she half-expected Max to have done it up. Candles. Flowers. Something. But it was in its normal state, the linens straightened and the towels in the bathroom folded neatly, indicating that housekeeping had come and gone. Melina let out a sigh of relief.
Max was sticking to the plan, making this weekend exactly what she wanted, a straightforward tutoring session rather than something resembling a romantic rendezvous or false seduction. When a woman asked you to teach her how to please a man, very little seduction was necessary, after all. Pretending otherwise would have made her feel even more self-conscious.
Setting her single bag on the bed, she noted that Max had traveled pretty light himself. A suitcase in the corner, along with the familiar-looking magic case that held his cards and smaller close-up tricks. An evil urge to open the case and rifle through it took hold of her, but of course she couldn't do it. A magician's bag of tricks was his sacred possession. Neither Max nor Rhys had ever broken the magician's code by telling her how a trick was performed.
Of course, she'd done her own research on the Internet, but had never told them that. They would have been appalled. Growing up with professional magicians as parents had made Max and Rhys not just passionate about the craft, but mystical in many ways. They talked as if they actually believed it was possible to make a card appear from thin air. And they wanted her to have such belief as well.
Lucky for her, her scientific mind couldn't subscribe to such fodder. It was always better to deal with concretes. That way, you could calculate the risks and predict the outcome. Even then, the world was a scary place. Add something like magic to the equation? No, thanks.
It didn't take her very long to unpack, and soon she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to stop herself from bolting.
Chewing on one nail, she glanced at the hotel clock. 7:30 p.m. Max had told her he would be back to the hotel room close to 8:30 p.m. and to get comfortable and wait for him.
“And by comfortable, I don't mean sweats and a ratty T-shirt, Melina. Bring something sexy to wear,” he'd ordered. “Wear your hair down. And ditch the glasses.”
“But I can't see well without my glasses,” she'd protested. “I mean, I won't run into walls, but I'll miss the finer details.”
Something like satisfaction sparked in his eyes, but then his expression went blank. “Don't you have contacts?”
“I can't wear contacts. I have dry eyes.”
Shaking his head with amusement, he said, “Just do it, babe.” Then he'd leaned forward, kissed her forehead as he'd done so many times in the past, and got up to leave. Before closing the door, however, he'd turned back to her. “You sure about this?”
Of course she wasn't sure, she'd wanted to scream. But he'd already said yes. Plus, she didn't relish the idea of telling fifty undergraduate students that she was a sexual coward. And, finally, she'd forced herself to remember the shame she'd felt at Brian's words. Telling her she wasn't good enough, sexy enough, to inspire a man's passion. She was never going to let another man hurt her that way again, and she trusted Max to teach her things that would put Brian's little vet resident to shame.
“I'm sure,” she'd said. “After all, tomorrow's my birthday. What could be better for me than a little continuing education?”
Education? What a dork, she'd thought. Thankfully, he'd just smiled. “That's right. Remember, no glasses, okay?”
“Are they really that ugly?” she'd asked hesitantly, lifting one hand to touch the wire frames she'd once thought were quite stylish.
All he'd done was close the door, loudly singing Happy Birthday to You, as he walked down the walkway to his car.
She'd felt so self-satisfied then. Giddy that he'd agreed to help her. Now, she stared at the single large piece of luggage that had been laid across the luggage rack as if it contained something horrible. Standing, she walked toward it, stopping when she saw a few items that Max had laid on the long surface of the dresser. A black toiletry bag. A bottle of cologne. A comb. And—
Her eyes widened, and she reached out, nudging the cologne bottle aside. There, sticking half-out of a toiletry bag, was a box of condoms. Hand shaking, she picked it up.
It was open. Looking around as if to make sure no one had snuck into the room while she'd been distracted, she read the label more closely. Good thing he'd come prepared because what she'd bought wasn't nearly as interesting. She'd gone for the standard stuff, whereas his tastes ran to Magnum extra large, ribbed, and flavored. She flushed but couldn't resist grabbing one of the foil-wrapped Magnums and studying it.
The men she'd been with had all been of like size, and she knew they'd fit well within the range of average. This condom didn't look unusually big. Really, how much difference was there between Magnum and acceptable? Was it just a marketing device designed to play on a man's insecurities? There was one sure way to tell.
Rifling through her own bag, she took out one of the condoms she'd brought. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she ripped open each foil packet and laid the small latex disks on the coverlet. Dragging her purse closer to her, she extracted the small measuring tape in one of the side pockets. Pursing her lips, she unrolled both condoms then laid them flat.
After some quick measurements, she sat back.
Okay, there was a definite difference. She couldn't accuse the condom makers of false advertisement. The Magnums were indeed about thirty percent larger than the regular-size condoms. Mostly in width, since the condom wasn't designed to fit the entire length of a man's penis anyway.
Feeling light-headed, she tried to envision herself helping Max put one of those things on.
All that did was make her start hyperventilating.
Stop it, she told herself. Don't go there.
To distract herself, Melina carefully tucked both unused rubbers into her overnight bag. She couldn't very well leave them in the trash can and risk Max seeing them and guessing what she'd done. He'd tease her about it mercilessly.
He'd probably tease her about this whole situation once the shock wore off.
If he showed up in the first place.
Breath catching, she once again felt dizzy. Frantic.
Desperately, she searched the room, her gaze landing on the minibar. She rushed to it, opened the door, and stared at the little bottles of alcohol.
She'd seen a stocked minibar before, but she'd never actually drank from it. Too expensive. Plus, the little bottles of alcohol had seemed silly somehow. Right now, silly seemed appropriate, and she was desperate to calm her jittery nerves. Taking out the five small bottles, she lined them up on top of the dresser and perused the selection. One finger tapping her pursed lips, she selected one bottle. Unscrewing the cap, she took a swig.
And gasped.
Holy moly, that burned.
The second swig, not so much.
By the time she took her third, she was already starting to feel better.
She set the bottle down then looked at the clock. It was almost eight.
Max would be here soon, and she was still fully dressed, hardly what one would call comfortably.
Rushing into the bathroom, she stripped down to her underwear, simple boy-short panties and a cotton camisole and bra. Face flushed with nerves and alcohol, she stared at herself in the full-length mirror.
What she'd told Max was true. She wasn't beautiful, and she didn't have the world's best body, but she was attractive. Certainly nothing like he and Rhys were used to, but Max must find her at least reasonably attractive, or else he wouldn't have agreed to her little proposal.
Unless he felt sorry for her.
Oh, God. Was she about to be pity f*cked?
The idea didn't sit well with her. She was a strong, independent woman who simply wanted to expand her repertoire of tricks. She'd read sex books. She'd watched porn. But besides making her incredibly hot and frustrated, most of the sexual acts and responses she'd viewed still seemed somewhat perplexing to her. The whole thing with the nipples, for example. Nipple stimulation did next to nothing for her, but other women seemed to enjoy it. Did men?
That was the kind of thing she wanted to know. The kind of thing that Brian had ridiculed her for when she'd asked him. She'd ply Max with questions, and she'd try her best to make the experience a good one for him.
It wasn't like he could have very many expectations.
At least she knew she was a better kisser than she'd been at sixteen.
Closing her eyes, she opened herself to the memory of that long-ago night. Rhys had asked her to meet him in her parents’ gazebo the night of her sweet sixteen party. He had something special he wanted to give her, he'd said. And something important to tell her. Imagination going wild and hope soaring, she'd waited in that gazebo for over an hour before Max had come out to find her. When she'd asked about Rhys, Max had stalled. But Melina had kept pushing until Max finally admitted that Rhys was making out with Trisha James, the busty blonde cheerleader who lived next door and the one who Melina's parents had bullied her into inviting. She'd sobbed all over poor Max's shirt, and then, feeling sorry for her, he'd kissed her. Even then, she hadn't been ignorant of his skill. That slow, gentle, open-mouthed kiss still ranked high on her kiss-o-meter. By the time Rhys had shown up outside, Trisha by his side, Melina had been able to control her hurt and make a dignified exit.
She'd always been grateful to Max for his compassion that night. That's why she knew he wouldn't let her down now.
Another quick glance at the clock confirmed she had about twenty more minutes until he showed up.
She climbed on the bed. She tried out several come-hither positions, but only felt exposed and silly. Finally, she settled for getting under the covers, but not before putting the minibar bottles on the end table next to her, lined up like little shot glasses.
Just a little more whiskey courage, she thought.
She was on the last bottle, an enjoyable buzz simmering inside her, when she remembered Max's third request.
Her glasses. She took them off, stared blurrily at the fragile frames, and moved to put them on the nightstand. She hesitated. With a shrug, she tossed the glasses in the direction of the armchair, wincing when she heard them bounce against something hard.
No matter. She had a spare pair in her purse and more at home.
Tonight was supposed to be all about experiencing new things.
New sensations.
She was going to be a good little pupil.
She knew, however, that, like a shot in the arm that was for her own good, sometimes it was better to not see what was coming. Especially if it was of magnum proportions.
* * *
Rhys got off the elevator and moved wearily toward his hotel room. He was standing in front of his door and fishing his key card from his pocket when he suddenly froze. Head tilted back, he took a deep breath. He smelled lemon, a fresh, clean scent that he always associated with Melina because of the shampoo her mother had customized for her long, curly, brown locks. His gut clenched as he replayed his conversation with Max.
His brother had landed two blows over the course of two days. The first, by exposing his feelings for Melina. The second, by accusing him of hurting her. Both right on the mark.
He didn't want to hurt Melina. That's the last thing he wanted. But after over a decade of having what he wanted just within his reach but knowing he couldn't have it, he needed to move on.
Hell, he and Max were celebrities. Women threw themselves at him. The brunette he'd left at the bar had made it clear she was interested in more than his autograph and had seemed genuinely disappointed when he'd wished her goodnight.
Still, while one or two had managed to catch his attention for more than a night over the years, they'd never been able to make him feel the way he felt when he was with Melina.
As though a part of him had long been chopped off and magically reattached.
Like a deck of cards missing all its aces until someone slipped them back in.
It was a feeling that even the thundering applause of a packed theater in Caesars Palace couldn't compete with.
But it was an illusion. She'd already shown she preferred Max's company by a wide mile. Plus, beyond physical attraction on his part and possibly on hers, they weren't compatible, and he didn't want to spend his life arguing with her or disappointing her just to be proved right.
Shaking his head, he slipped the key card in and entered the hotel room.
Immediately, he tensed, his sharp vision homing in on the woman lying in his bed, her eyes sleepily blinking open as she propped herself up on one elbow. He almost swallowed his tongue when the sheet slipped down her chest, exposing her graceful throat and bare shoulders and arms. Her hair, usually pulled back, tumbled around her face like a cloud of mink.
Like a man under a spell, he walked into the room. Stumbled was probably more like it. He heard the loud click of the door closing behind him.
She smiled. “Hi.”
He trembled at the simple word, spoken in a husky, sleepy tone he'd never heard come from her lips. His hands clenched into fists as an inferno ignited inside him, spreading from his groin into his extremities. His dick filled with blood, hardening so fast that he would have grimaced with the pleasure-pain if he was capable of it.
Instead, he stared at her and struggled to speak.
She scooted to a sitting position and tucked the sheet around her. “I-I must have dozed off.” She glanced at the clock, squinting a bit without her glasses.
When had he last seen her without her glasses?
“Everything okay?” she asked.
His soggy brain struggled to work. Okay? Things were looking f*cking fabulous from where he was standing.
“So, did you want to clean up first or—” She cleared her throat. “Or just get started?”
His mouth dropped open. Worked up and down. “Started,” he finally managed to croak. He'd intended the word to be a question, but it came out as a definitive statement.
She shot him another sweet smile, and he instinctively stepped closer. God, she looked amazing. And the way she was staring at him, so warm and at ease, a look she hadn't given him in such a long time. It made his chest ache. It made his heart pound.
It made his dick throb even more.
She held out a hand. “Then come here, big boy, and teach me what you like.”