Melodie's Song [The Black Dahlia Hotel 3] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) Read online

  “So, Logan, what do you do for a living? Do you live in the neighborhood? It was fortuitous that you were passing by when I was attacked.”

  “I had gone out for coffee and the papers. Tell me, did they ever catch the guy?”

  “No. My handbag and empty wallet were found in a garbage can in an alley a few blocks away. And what do you do again?”

  “I’m a musician. My apartment and my band’s rehearsal loft are on the top floor of the old Stranahan Shoe Factory building. I walk past your gallery every day when I go out for coffee and the papers in the morning.”

  “That’s interesting. Would I know your band?” A musician? That is different. Although, now that she looked at him closely, it seemed to fit him.

  “I don’t know. We play rock. Some hard, some not so much. The band is called Dark Place.” He smiled. “We’re doing a six-city tour after New Year’s. We’ve been fairly popular in a certain segment of the community. We’ve opened for several of the big rock bands and have a recording contract. The tour should tell the story.”

  “What instrument do you play?”

  “Just about all of them. Oh, you mean in the band. I’m lead guitar and lead singer. There are four other guys. They drive me crazy, but I guess I drive them crazy, too. They’re my best friends as well as band mates. Actually, if they hadn’t been ragging on me today, I might not be sitting here with you now. I have been hesitant to impose.”

  “You’re not imposing. I’ve always wanted to be able to thank you, and now I can.”

  “Well, if you really want to thank me, you’ll agree to have dinner with me tomorrow night.” She was about to refuse, as usual, when he said, “Don’t turn me down out of hand. I think maybe you’ve made a habit of that since the attack. I’m the one person who understands what you’ve been through. I was attracted to you before, and I’m still attracted to you now, two years later.”

  “What do you mean you were attracted to me before?”

  “I’d seen you on the street. But, hell, this is New York. You don’t just go up to people on the street and ask for a date. I’d eventually have found a way, though. You can bet on that.”

  “And you’re not repulsed by the scar? I have to be honest here. I’ve gotten good at not really looking in the mirror.”

  “Well, then, you should. The scar is not that bad—not nearly as bad as I expected it to be. You were a beautiful woman before, and you’re a beautiful woman now. I’d like the opportunity to prove that to you.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s not as bad as it was. I’ve had a lot of surgery, with more to come.” She thought for a moment. He was right. If anyone could understand, it would be him. “Okay. Dinner tomorrow night. I’ll look forward to it.”

  He grinned, and as the smile spread over his face, he became downright beautiful. “Great. Shall I pick you up at the gallery or at your house?” He oozed confidence, sex appeal, and something else she couldn’t identify. She couldn’t remember being so attracted to a man in a very long time. She wanted to run her hands over that amazing face—maybe sculpt him instead of paint.

  “My brownstone is only a few blocks away. Give me your phone and I’ll enter my contact information.”

  * * * *

  Logan loved it when a plan came together! Why the fuck had he waited so long? Timing was everything, so there must be a reason for the spirits to guide his endeavor, as his Apache grandfather would say.

  Chapter Four

  At South Street Seaport, Pier 17, New York, New York, Thursday evening, July 2, 2015

  Dinner at Acqua at Peck Slip had been excellent. The weather was beautiful and they had gotten a table outside. Logan always thought that you couldn’t go wrong with Italian food and a good bottle of wine. At first, Melodie had watched the people walking past from behind her curtain of hair, but then she slowly seemed to relax in his company. She had even gotten so excited when she was relating a story about an artist who showed his work at her gallery that she had casually brushed the hank of hair at her right temple back behind her ear without even thinking about it. He found himself opening up to her as well. Now they were walking around the Seaport. He had his arm around her shoulder to keep from being separated by the bustling crowd of shoppers, diners and tourists.

  “So tell me about yourself, Logan. You have such an interesting face. I’d love to paint it some time.”

  “Interesting or scary? As in, able to scare little children with a single look?”

  “Of course not. Your face has very strong lines, but when you smile and the lines crinkle up around your eyes, you are actually very handsome. And you have a killer smile.”

  “Well, thanks. I’ll have to remember to smile more often.”

  “Yes, you will. That was a genuine compliment, smarty.”

  “Sorry. I’m often told that I’m intimidating.” And that was true. He had a reputation in the dungeon at Le Club Eastside-Manhattan of being harsher than he actually was, and he attributed some of that to the Native American cast of his facial features. “Okay, then. I’m half Black Irish and half Western Apache. My last name was originally Two Hawks. I grew up in Phoenix for the most part, although I spent a lot of summers with my paternal grandfather at the Fort Apache Indian Reservation in Peridot, Arizona. It’s the home of the White Mountain Apache Tribe. That was the best of times and the worst of times, as they saying goes. I loved spending time with my grandfather, but a lot of the other boys resented that I lived in the city and not on the Rez. I got called ‘half breed’ a lot.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed that you were half Irish. Kids can be cruel—especially about things they don’t understand. I’ve seen a lot of little fingers pointing at my face while they yelled, ‘Look at that lady, mommy. She has a red thing on her face.’ It’s gotten better, but I still try to shield my face in public.”

  “I can see that it’s gotten a lot better, Melodie. I don’t think you really need to do that anymore.” He directed her toward a bench overlooking the East River, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the collection of historic tall ships. They sat down, but he continued to keep his arm around her shoulders. For some reason, he didn’t want to give up that connection. He pulled her in and nestled her under his arm.

  He saw the pain flit briefly through her eyes before she said, “So tell me more about the Reservation.” It was obvious that she wanted to get the spotlight off herself.

  “It’s located northeast of Phoenix. The land is high desert and mostly covered by pine forests. It’s really very beautiful country. The highest point is Mount Baldy Peak at over eleven thousand feet in elevation. The tribe operates a ski resort and a casino. There is also a museum and the Kinishba ruins, an ancestral pueblo Mogollon and Anasazi archaeological site. My grandfather is a tribal elder and has a small house in the foothills. I spent summers riding my pinto pony bareback, fishing, hunting and learning the Apache language and customs. All in all, it was pretty terrific.”

  “Did your parents spend summer vacation there as well?”

  “No. My father was killed in a bar fight when I was three, and I have no memory of him—which is probably just as well. I really can’t imagine what they ever had in common. My mother is a concert pianist. She studied here in New York at Juilliard. My maternal grandparents still live in the city—up on Fifth Avenue overlooking the park. Mom also plays with the Phoenix Symphony. That’s why I am able to play most instruments. Between my mother and her Symphony friends, I was tutored to within an inch of my life as a kid. Summers with my grandfather allowed her to tour and me some respite from music lessons. Eventually I’d like to take the band in a slightly different direction. I’m slowly incorporating some softer rock—sort of a rock-jazz emulsion. If I do it gradually, those bozos in the band won’t even notice—as long as they like the sound. Right now, we are working on building brand and name identification. I’d also like to pursue a career as a jazz pianist.” He laughed at her expression. “I know—rock band to jazz man. It’s a long distance betw
een diametrically opposed opposites. We’ll see what happens. What about you? How did you end up in a gallery in Tribeca?”

  “My maternal grandmother was a character. Her name was Mary Elizabeth. She and my mom were nothing alike. She was a model in her younger days, and later became quite well known as an impressionist artist. She started the gallery in the 1980s and left it to me, together with my brownstone, when she passed away. I changed the name and modernized it. I guess my painting talent comes from her.”

  “Do you look like her?”

  “My mom says I do.” She laughed. “Except for the flaming red hair. I don’t remember her when she was younger, and photos are deceiving.” She smiled. “Apparently she was a hippie and the toast of Greenwich Village at one time. Do you have an Indian name?” She blushed. “Is it politically incorrect to ask that?”

  He laughed. “No problem. Of course I have an Indian name. It’s Eknath, which means ‘poet’ in Apache—although my grandfather usually called me Eskaminzim, which means ‘big mouth.’”

  “No. It can’t be true. You seem like the tall, silent type.”

  “Stereotyped again.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “Relax, Melodie. I’m just kidding. I’ve had this face for a long time.” He really couldn’t wait any longer to taste her. He squeezed her hand. Then he turned her toward him. “May I?” When she nodded, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soft, pink lips. It started out sweet and easy, but as the seconds passed, the kiss became hot and urgent. Finally, he took it back down again. “I wanted to do that two years ago.”

  “I wish you had.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. You’re an interesting man, Logan Eknath Hawk. Very interesting.”

  “Do you think you might like to explore this attraction? I know I would.” He held his breath for her answer. Suddenly, it meant a lot to him. She meant a lot to him. She had since he’d felt her lifeblood flowing between his fingers, and he’d wanted to do anything he could to stop her from slipping away.

  “Yes, I think I would.”

  “Good. Before we get too deeply involved, there are some things you’ll need to know about me. I’m what is known as a Dom, or Dominant. I participate in the BDSM lifestyle. Do you know what that is?”

  “I think nowadays most people do.”

  “Yeah, that Fifty Shades thing. I have to tell you that from what I understand, that is not a particularly accurate depiction of the lifestyle, although each couple defines their own limits. If you want to explore it with me, I’d be pleased and honored to initiate you. I am not a Dom who wants a twenty-four-seven D/s or Dominant/submissive relationship. I don’t have the time or inclination to completely control another person’s life. I have enough to do with my own and the band. I won’t pressure you to participate if you don’t want to. We can try it on for size and see what you think. It’s completely up to you.”

  “So, would I be a sub, or submissive?” She looked apprehensive.

  “Yes, you would be my sub.”

  * * * *

  Melodie was not really surprised to learn that Logan was a Dom. He had a certain edge to his mannerisms and personality. She could see that he was an alpha male just by the way he held her and protected her from the crowd. She and Pansy had talked about BDSM after they had both read the E.L. James books. They had wondered if they could do it or would enjoy it. Both had said they might like to experiment, but weren’t sure they could live that way full-time or permanently. Now, it looked like she might get to take a taste. She shivered as a tremor of excitement zipped up her spine. Yikes! Logan Hawk is a Dom?

  This seemed to be happening a little too quickly. Although she had only known Logan for two days, she had actually known him for two years. She had dreamed about the dark presence that had put his strong hands on her wound. He had held her and whispered for her to hold on, not to die. And she had tried to reach out to him through the mist of her unconscious.

  “Could we start slowly? I’m not sure how I’ll feel about that whole thing, especially the spanking stuff.”

  He laughed. “Of course we would start slowly. I’ll explain everything, and we will discuss the BDSM thing and what’s going to happen, and what your hard and soft limits are, before we do anything. That’s the ‘safe, sane and consensual’ part of the proceedings. Of course, you’ll have your safe word.” He kissed her hard and deep again. When they came up for air, he said, “How would you feel about going back to my place to fool around? Just plain old vanilla, to start. I don’t think you’re ready for chocolate raspberry or pistachio mint yet, but I’ve been dying to get you to myself since yesterday.” She could see the hopeful expression on his face.

  She thought for a moment. She knew Logan was watching her carefully. It had been almost two years since she had been intimate with a man. It was time she got back to living, and she had a soul-deep feeling that this was the right man to help her and the right time to dip her toes back into life.

  Pansy was going to have a fit. She couldn’t wait to talk to her about this new development. When they spoke on the phone the night before, Pansy had been surprised and delighted that Melodie had an actual date. Lately she had been gently, and then not so gently, pushing Melodie to break out of her self-imposed exile. This might be a little more of a breakout than either of them had anticipated, but she thought she was ready to go for it. A glance down at the front of Logan’s jeans said he was more than ready to go for it.

  When she nodded, he said, “Let’s go. We’ll just grab a cab back over to my loft on the west side. We should have both digested our dinners by then and be ready for some dessert. Maybe vanilla with a little chocolate syrup?” His wicked grin made her laugh. While he had an imposing look, she could see the fun underneath his austere appearance. She would like to be the one to make him break out that killer smile more often. It really lit up his face.

  * * * *

  As they grabbed a cab for the trip across the tip of lower Manhattan, Logan was a little nervous. That wasn’t like him. If anything, he was overconfident where women were concerned, but that was just part of the Dom thing. He couldn’t get her back to his loft fast enough, but Melodie was so very important to him. He had known it for two years. Maybe that was why he had hesitated to make contact with her. He’d known this woman was going to be vital to him.

  When they reached the shoe factory building, he took her hand and led her inside the first-floor foyer. It wasn’t much to look at—just a wooden bench and four large mailboxes, one for each floor. He held her arm as she stepped into the freight elevator. It never stopped exactly level with the floor. The ascent was a little scary as the bare light bulb in the open elevator cage cast flickering shadows against the walls of the elevator shaft. Although it had never bothered him and the guys, he was seeing it through her eyes. Maybe he and the other floor owners in the building should do something about this elevator.

  “I know it’s a little wobbly and dark, but really, it is safe.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her until the car settled on the top floor. They stepped out of the elevator into another small foyer and he unlocked the double steel doors.

  When he swung them open and ushered her inside he saw her eyes go wide. The huge space was a bit overwhelming. There were spotlights in the ceiling to light the various areas, and he pointed them out as they crossed the rough floor to the entrance to his apartment at the back.

  “That’s our rehearsal and recording area, and on the right is my office. At the back is my music room, where I compose or just play. We have a dormitory-type space over there for when the guys need to stay over, a gym area, and that area over there behind the dark doors is the dungeon. Did I mention that the other guys are Doms as well?”

  “Uh, no. You didn’t mention that. I’d really like to meet them and hear some of your music.”

  “Maybe this weekend. We’re playing a Fourth of July concert in Central Park with Coldplay, which is a huge honor and
should be some excellent exposure for us. Would you like to come?”

  “I’d love to come. Show me your apartment.” They were standing in front of a set of double doors.

  He unlocked the paneled mahogany double doors, which had been salvaged from an old house in Brooklyn that was being torn down. The last of the evening light was spilling through the high windows. The apartment space was large and open, with the kitchen and living area on one side and his bedroom on a raised platform on the other. There was an enclosed bathroom with his enormous multi-jet steam shower. He had gotten the majority of his fixtures, flooring and other building materials from the house in Brooklyn and other nearby demolition sites. He’d had the floors and bathroom fixtures refinished and had installed the steam shower and a state-of-the-art stainless steel kitchen. Basically, the decor was industrial modern with no frills, and suited him just perfectly. But now he was seeing it through Melodie’s eyes, and it might seem a little cold. After seeing the warm brownstone where she lived, the art on the walls, and the general ambiance, he was a little concerned about bringing her here.

  “It suits you. Very masculine.”

  “But I can see that it wouldn’t suit you.”

  She grinned. “It could definitely use a woman’s touch.”

  “I guess it could. Very few women have actually made it through those doors into my private space. Any subs I’ve brought here have made it as far as the dungeon, and no further.”

  She turned a full circle and looked around. “Well, I’m honored then.”

  “How about a glass of wine up on my rooftop patio? The sun is going down so there should be a good sunset.”