Chapter Four

The faint scent of Cool Water and the pressure of Howie's hand around her waist brought Melanie out of her reverie. His tongue lightly skimmed the tip of her ear lobe as he pretended to whisper in her ear.

"Let's mingle."

She pulled her head away slightly to face him. Her eyes danced with amusement as she tossed her hair to one side and absently wet her lips. It was a subtle act of seduction which enticed Howie. His eyes lingered on her neck with longing before drinking in the rest of her face.

"That's the best you can come up with?" she laughed.

"'fraid so," he conceded.

He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed briefly, asking for and getting a silent response.

"Mrs. Dorough?"

"Uhm, er, Mrs. Dorough?"

Melanie realized that she was being addressed.

"Oh sorry, Stacy, I didn't know you were talking to me. I'm not Mrs. Dorough, just call me Mel."

"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am."

"No, don't be. You wouldn't know."

"It's 11:30, we're going to be replacing the food and passing around the noise makers. We'll just keep serving the champagne as we have all evening, alright?"

"Yes, that would be great. Howie, hon, give me a minute."

He let go of her hand but not before nuzzling into her neck to say, "hurry back".

He watched Mel walk away with the petite blonde caterer. Tonight's roller coaster ride of emotions was taking its toll. Nick had made an unrepentant apology for "invading" Melanie's privacy, tormenting Howie, even though, if he was being totally honest, he'd admit to a shiver or two of excitement. What was Nick really trying to say?

"Howie."

Hoke Dorough called to his younger son. The gentle smile that greeted his father didn't reach Howie's eyes. Something was bothering him, Hoke thought. Life was much easier when they were little. That was when a hug and some fatherly advice solved almost all problems. Besides, things had a way of working out for Howie.

"Your mom and I are tired. We're going to leave after midnight if that's alright with you. Will Melanie mind?"

"No, Dad, thanks for coming and for all your help." The two men stood side by side, quietly looking at their surroundings.

"You alright, Howie?" Hoke prodded after a few minutes.

"I could never hide stuff from you guys," Howie laughed nervously. "I can't talk about it right now. Tonight, I'm. . . " the younger man sighed, interrupting his own statement.

There was nothing else to say. His parents would always be there to lend their emotional support and they respected his judgment.

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Nick stood on the top level of the deck's stairs considering his options. He wanted to walk down to the beach and find the serenity that the water gave him. She had infuriated him with her obstinate attitude but damn it, he wanted her, Howie or not.

Sitting down heavily, he pulled off his socks and shoes. A midnight walk on the beach could be his cure. As his feet touched down onto the fine, damp sand of the private Cocoa Beach retreat, he felt the pent-up stress drain from his body. The feeling of the cool sand squeezing between his toes, shifting from his weight, drew his attention away from his troubled thoughts. His eyes narrowed, searching for the end of the sky and the beginning of the ocean's expanse. Its unfathomable depths and incomprehensible power fascinated him. He walked until he could walk no farther and then, collapsed on the isolated beach.

Extracting a bottle from under his arm, he stared at the ornate, handpainted design of the Perrier Jouet label. A loud pop shattered the quiet of the night. Nick raised the bottle to his lips, gulped down the effervescent liquid and muttered bitterly to himself.

"Happy New Year, Dawg."

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The noise and festivities, the kisses of family and friends and the usual hoopla associated with New Year's Eve past quickly as the clock ticked relentlessly into 2003. Except for some of the guys who were staying, the house was empty, and almost clean, thanks to the catering staff.

It was 4:30am. Howie was sleeping soundly, having fallen asleep with a glass in his hand. Standing in front of him, Melanie extricated the delicate crystal from his fingers, and lowered herself to kiss his forehead. He groaned as his hand dropped down onto his lap.

"Happy New Year, baby," she whispered to him, brushing his fine curls back from his face. He continued snoring quietly, unaware of her.

They wouldn't be having their early morning tryst. In a way, she was relieved. It stalled the inevitable discussion of the ring. She wasn't ready for the commitment. It scared the hell out of her. It would have scared Howie too if she hadn't been so nervous herself. She smiled at the irony of the two of them together.

"I guess the party's over."

The sound of Nick's voice startled Melanie. He held his shoes and socks in one hand and an empty magnum of champagne in the other.

"Why do you do that? Where were you? Billy was near out of his mind."

"Fuck 'im," Nick slurred.

"Nick, are you drunk?"

"Maybe. What do you care?"

"I care, Nick," she answered, ignoring his belligerence. He stumbled slightly in her direction.

"Look at you, you're covered in sand. What did you do? Sleep on the beach or something?"

She instinctively stretched her arm, reaching for his head in order to loosen the fine grains caught in his blonde mop. He swayed unsteadily.

"It's late. You better go to sleep."

Nick's bewildered expression prompted her to ask him if he knew where his room was. Shaking his head, he made his hair even more disheveled, deceptively giving him the look of an innocent boy. She led him upstairs and pushed open the door of the last bedroom along the corridor.

"Everything you need is in the bureau. There's the washroom. Where's your luggage. That's just your gym stuff from this afternoon."

There was an uncomfortable silence as they both remembered the events that led to their uneasiness.

"I don't need it. I'll sleep naked," he taunted. "Do I get a good night kiss?"

"Give it a rest, Nick. It's morning and it's not a good idea."

She was drained, feeling slightly inebriated and definitely not up to sparring with him. Mel could not have anticipated his next action, even when he took her hand in his. But by then, it was too late.

"Feel what you do to me," the words tumbled out as he fought to keep his composure.

Melanie was too shocked to move. His erection twitched and strained against her hand. He stepped closer to her and before she could move, his mouth harshly descended upon hers. She felt overwhelmed by an excitement which was tinged with fear, her body's schizophrenic response to him. He pulled her to him roughly as his lips assaulted hers. She would have broken free if his forcefulness had continued but instead his mouth softened against hers, tenderly coaxing rather than demanding a response, his hands gently skimming the soft curves against him. He'd often been accused of being a selfish lover for which he made no excuses. But he wanted to please her.

"Jesus, Nick, STOP. We've got to stop." The last vestiges of her sanity invaded the overheated atmosphere.

The sound of desperation reached his ears. She looked like a caged animal, fearful and trapped. Had he imagined her reaction to him? He didn't think he had.

She did say, "WE'VE got to stop."

"I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I want to be with you. I don't know why. I hate that you love Howie." Nick sounded as if he was on the verge of tears.

She could have believed almost anything else. There was something very odd about his behaviour. Nick didn't cry. He couldn't cry. It had saddened her that he was so bereft of emotion. She was aware that his dispassion had been a survival technique. Nick's heart had been a casualty of show business, the price he paid for success at a young age.

"Don't give me that crap! You're so full of shit, your eyes are turning brown. Gawd, you'll stop at nothing to get to Howie," she spat out bitterly.

She had to get away from his all too charismatic presence. How dare he try to manipulate her.

His cheeks flushed with anger and his eyes narrowed disdainfully as the heat of their passion chilled to an artic frost.

"What the fuck? Why the hell do I have to get to Howie? In case you didn't notice, I'm THE popular Backstreet Boy."

"Yeah, pretty boy, I noticed. But one of these days, Nicky, you're going to have to get off the stage." Her comment struck a nerve.

"You fucking bitch. I feel sorry for Howie. He doesn't know what a piece of work you are."

"Is that right? So how come you want me so badly?" Mel purred provocatively to make her point.

Nick stepped towards her, crowding her into the wall. Despite her bravado, his towering height and large frame intimidated her. She was right but he was gob smacked at her nerve. He did want her. It had been a long time since a woman got under his skin the way she had. He hesitated for minute and then threw caution to the wind.

"The thing is. . ." he replied, "you want me too."

He reached for her lips with the tip of his finger, tracing their fullness with his touch. Their eyes locked. His clear azure depths mesmerized her. His finger left her lips, drawing a line of heat down her chin and the length of her neck.

"Nick. I don't want you."

Not even she was convinced by her words.

"Yes, you do. You want me."

He whispered the words repeatedly against her lips, his face barely touching hers. She felt the pattern of his breathing and the sultry, confident smile as it closed in on her mouth. She smelled the mixture of the beach, his cologne and the stale taste of the champagne on his breath. He stood imperceptibly separate to her.

"Now, tell me you want me." It was a quiet command.

"Fuck you," she murmured, making a weak attempt to salvage herself from the depths of her own depravity.

"Don't you mean fuck me?" His lips still hovered ever so close to her own.

"No, Nick."

"I'm hearing no but I'm seeing yes. Like how you're quivering here."

His finger lightly tapped the hollow where her neck ended and her chest began. He put his mouth against the same spot, feeling her racing pulse against his lips. The tip of his tongue peaked out to taste her skin.

A groan escaped her. Gone were the fury and accusations, only to be replaced by something far more dangerous, far more damaging.

"Nick, no."

He stopped abruptly while conducting a perusal of her features. Her eyes had deepened to the dark rich colour of cocoa. They had taken on a wide-eyed curiousity as she unsuccessfully tried not to look at him.

He stood absolutely still, trapping her against the wall with his presence and his will, captivating her with his powerful sexuality.

It was his turn to groan. He scooped her up in his arms, urging her to wrap her legs around him and feel his hard length grinding against her. They stood before each other, overwhelmed and breathless.

Melanie watched his seduction of her as if she was an outsider. Nick looped his thumbs under the spaghetti straps and lifted the loose fitting silver lame top over her head.

He looked down in awe on the chest he had not so secretly admired. Everyone knew that Nick was a breast man. He appreciated them in all shapes and sizes. These were ample. He kissed the tiny area between them and moaned with pleasure at anticipated delights.

There would be no turning back. He satisfied her with an attentiveness he reserved for no one else, discovering the joy of bringing a woman to orgasm with the touch of his mouth and his hands, expecting nothing in return.

Nick was sure he had never been so aroused. She showed him things about his body he didn't know existed, paying infinite attention to his needs. When he slid into her welcoming warmth, he was sure he would explode immediately. Intuitively, they slowed their movements until neither could wait any longer. It became a hard, demanding fuck. Nothing romantic, just urgent. Thrusting and withdrawing, and then thrusting harder again. She took what he gave and demanded more. Her manicured nails dug into the firm, damp skin of his butt until wave after wave of excitement overcame them.

It would be difficult to let her go but he would.

Deep soul-searching kisses muffled the sound of their cries. They lay spent in each other's arms for the time it took them to recover. Nick turned away from her to face the opposite direction. He realized that they had to make the break.

She thought his actions were more self-centred, and silently got up to leave. It had been incredible. Better than she could have imagined. Now it was over.

Bending to retrieve her discarded clothes, she turned to give him a last glance.

"Will you hold me? Just for a minute?" she heard him ask.

"I shouldn't."

"Ok, I understand." His back was still to her.

She left the clothing on the floor, and climbed back into the bed. Her arms wrapped around his chest while she rested her head between his shoulder blades. He covered her hands that rested on his stomach with his own. Lifting the one hand to his mouth, he kissed the tips of her fingers tenderly. There they stayed for five more minutes until anxiety demanded she leave. He fell into a sated sleep as she pulled her weary body out of bed, dressed again in her evening clothes and climbed the stairs to her and Howie's room.

The hot stream of water massaged her aching body. She had held in all her tensions for the last few days and now the party, and her relationship as she knew it, was over. She thought about what had just transpired, trying to make sense of it. The steam soothed her into a state of fatigue. Her legs were wobbly and difficult to move. She dragged herself to her and Howie's bed, resolving to deal with the situation when she was all the more rested. The bed welcomed her, embracing her with its voluminous layers. As she drifted off, she became aware of Howie's arms encircling her. Guilt immediately erased her exhaustion.