Page 48 of Quiet Protector
“Hi,” I inconspicuously sign, doubling the wetness in her eyes.
“Hi,” Melody signs back at the same time Isabelle’s elbow lands into my ribs. “Go say hello.”
I glare at Isabelle like she’s insane before shaking my head. I’m barely holding it together as it is, and Melody is on the other side of the room. There’s no way I’m ready for a face-to-face confrontation. Furthermore, she isn’t here alone. I asked Grayson to hack into the hotel’s reservation software during the commute back to my family’s ranch. It didn’t have a Melody Gregg listed. Julian McMahon, though, was there. Regretfully.
My head shake has me stumbling onto another participant ready to board the talk-to-Melody train. Grayson is standing at the side of the ballroom, glaring at me. His designer jeans, fitted shirt, and fancy jacket should make him stick out like a sore thumb in a room full of men in tuxedos, but for some reason, he pulls it off. He fits in with the rock star family this gala was founded for.
When Grayson nudges his head to Melody for the fifth time while mouthing that I’m a soft cock, I give in to his rile.
“Wish me luck,” I mumble under my breath before swooping down to place a peck on Isabelle’s cheek.
After she gives my hand an encouraging squeeze, I weave through the hundreds of gala attendees separating Melody and me. My heart beats out a funky tune with every step I take, as does a vein in Melody’s neck. She watches me cross the room, her lips parted in a smile, her eyes twinkling with moisture. She’s alone which both annoys and appeases me. The main threat to her life is holed up in a hospital room guarded by enough CIA officers he could be mistaken as a national dignitary, but we must stay cautious. Until we can prove the Castros and Bobrovs aren’t working together, alerts will remain high.
“Melody, hi.”The tears in her eyes glide down her cheeks when I stop to stand in front of her. I don’t know if it’s from seeing me in the flesh for the first time in seven years, realizing we still stand at the same height, or how my voice cracked when I said her name during my greeting. If I weren’t aware she’s deaf, I would have gone with the latter. Alas, she can’t hear me any more than I wish I could hear her say my name. “What is wrong? Why are you crying?”
I freeze like a statue when she responds, “Your voice… I can’t… Oh, God, BJ.” She didn’t sign her response. She spoke it.
“Mel…” I can’t speak. I’m too shocked and confident I am dreaming. “You can talk?” When she nods, I add, “And you can hear me?”
When she dips her chin for the second time, I cup her face, certain she’s about to vanish. She was already the girl of my dreams before she could talk, so you can imagine how confident I am that I’m dreaming. Her voice is a little husky, but I’d say that’s more to do with nerves than anything else. It matches the sweetness of her face while giving her still-girlish looks a touch of sophistication. It’s perfect, and it will have me smiling long after I wake up.
As my fingers plait through the dirty blonde waves pinned off Melody’s face, the reason for her newfound hearing is exposed. The faintest slither of coolness breaks through the heat teeming between us when my fingertips brace a speech processor behind her right ear.
“You got them done.” My words are barely whispers and more a confirmation than a question, but Melody has no trouble picking them up.
After nodding, she places her hands over mine so she can gently float them over each processor. Once my fingertips have traced the processors and transmitters responsible for her hearing, she glides my hands down her ears and across her wet cheeks before stopping them within a millimeter of her lips. Our odd display of public affection has gained us many eyes, but not even being scrutinized by a million people could dampen the intensity brewing between us. It is as if we’re in a room full of mute, tone-deaf people.
It’s just us.
“Hi, BJ,” Melody whispers a short time later, allowing me to feel the vibrations of her lips as she speaks my name for the second time. It’s just as good as it was the first time around, if not better from the memories it floods my head with. I often murmured her name on sensitive regions of her body to enhance our sexual connections whenever we slept together. This seems innocent to anyone outside of our little bubble, but to me, it’s just as provocative.
“Hi,” I reply, still too shocked to articulate any of the millions of thoughts in my head. Only one will come through, which isn’t surprising considering it’s the most important of them all. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she replies as she throws her arms around my neck to hug me tight. “So very much.”
19
Melody
Ablistering smile stretches across my face when Brandon mutters, “I’m sorry. I’m still having a hard time processing everything.” He pinches himself for the third time the past ten minutes before he continues guiding us to the side of the room so we don’t get trampled by the partygoers eager to enter the main part of the ballroom since the doors were recently opened for guests. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”
“If you were dreaming, wouldn’t you have your hands down my pants by now?” My words flutter at the end, staggered by the heat creeping across Brandon’s cheeks. He was a blusher when we were kids, but it seems to have grown worse as he progressed into adulthood.
The redness of his cheeks jumps onto mine when he replies, “Most likely. It’s how most of my dreams end up.”
When I slap his chest, the most beautiful noise in the world is exposed. His laugh… kill me now. I’ve never heard something so seductively enticing. I thought his voice was perfect when he called me a smart-ass all those weeks ago, but nothing compares to hearing it in real life. It’s strong, clear, and mannish but with a smoothness that would have you nodding off like a baby if he read to you while holding you in his arms—that’s, of course, if the book had a PG rating. If it wasn’t, you’ll be in for a very long and entertaining night.
“How long ago did you get the implants done? From the quality of your speech, I’m assuming it was a couple of years ago.”
“Nearly three years,” I reply, grateful he doesn’t sound pissed. “I wanted to tell you when we were texting earlier this week, but I held back when a little birdie told me your name was on the guest list for this event.” If the proud gleam in my eyes doesn’t disclose to him who the little birdie was, I’m sure my quick wave to his mother gawking at us from afar will expose the truth. “I wanted to see your reaction firsthand.” My teeth graze my bottom lip as I struggle to hold back my smile. “The wait was worth the torture. You looked a cross between wanting to chop off my head to make sure I wasn’t a robot to fainting.”
Brandon laughs again, still incapable of denying the truth. “I’m glad you waited. I don’t think it would have had the same impact if it wasn’t in person. Your voice…” I could kill him for his pause. It has me on tenterhooks and not in a good way. “It’s beautiful, Melody. Kind of completes the package. Humble and sweet with the slightest twang you’d expect from a country girl living in the city.”
“Thank you.” My reply is pathetic, but what more can I say? Your praise means the world to me even though you’re looking at me like you always have. I truly don’t think he would have cared if I was still deaf. We had no trouble communicating when we were kids, and my deafness didn’t create a barrier between us. If anything, it made us closer.
“Do you still know how to sign?”
My smile competes with the flashy chandeliers in the hotel bar when Brandon signs, “It is like my love of peanut butter… everlasting.”
