"Mel, for God's sake, speak to me," he whispered. "This is the first minute we've had all night, and I don't want to waste it."

"Logan," she said, wistfully, and from so near, he swept her finally into his arms, so that they danced in place to the new piece the orchestra had begun.

"They're playing the theme from Practical Magic," she said near his ear, a smile in her voice, holding him almost as tight as he held her, as if neither would let go any time soon. Fine by him.

"It's perfect," he said, pulling her closer, if possible, as they swayed to the slow, enchanting beat. "You're perfect."

She chuckled, low and seductive. "Perfect... because I'm a witch?"

"Because holding you in my arms is like a fantasy come true, I wanted it so much. Because I like the music-slow, but vital and alive-the way I want to make love to you."

Melody gasped, buried her warm face in his neck, and Logan savored the scent and feel of her permeating and enveloping him, raising him beyond the moment, as if they were destined to float in the watery illusion of the evening.

The rhythm changed; the dance turned seductive. Their lips met, frantic, the way he'd felt all evening, as if his heart would stop, if he didn't get his hands on her soon. "I missed you. I missed touching you, holding you. Let me hold you now, just for a while." He nuzzled her ear, whispered everything and nothing. "You're so beautiful. Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight, like a virgin mermaid waiting only for me."

Her low laugh caught, as if on a sob, and Logan frowned. "What's wrong?"

"How do you know what a virgin mermaid looks like?" She smoothed a lapel on his tux, ran a hand over his shoulder, threaded her fingers in the hair at his nape, possessive, perhaps, but a bit afraid to show it. He liked the notion almost as much as he liked the feel of her hands in his hair.

"I expect a mermaid would shimmer like you do," he said, sexual energy replacing his concern. He caressed and stroked her, in a bold, possessive mood of his own. "Though no mermaid could feel as great as you do in my arms."

"I don't think I'm so much in your arms as my ass is in your hands."

"Oh, yeah. Just where I like it." Logan swallowed her squeak with another kiss, longer, hungrier. He couldn't stop exploring and stroking, learning every turn and curve of her luscious, long-legged body. "Good grief," he said, pulling back. "The side slit on your gown goes all the way to your waist. Why didn't I notice this sooner?"

"Magic... and a graduated overskirt of the same fabric."

"Watch it, Seabright, that's fodder for a hidden weapons charge." Logan slid a hand beneath the slit and encountered nothing but the bare skin of her perfectly rounded bottom. "I think I'm gonna have a heart attack."

"Whatever for?" she asked, feigning innocence.

" 'Cause somebody stole your underwear."

"Nah. I'm wearing it, and its design is most appropriate to the evening's theme."

Logan touched his brow to hers, felt his heart pound in his head, the skin of her buttocks against his happy hands. "I'm afraid to ask... and... don't mind that rocket in my trousers."

"A fishnet thong, of course."

Logan made a strangled sound.

"Are you all right?"

He peeled her dress back to expose the front of her barely there thong to his seeking fingers, touched the triangle of net, and inched it aside. "No, but I'm gonna die happy." The heat of her about scorched him as he found and stroked her- warm, moist, ready. "And go straight to hell for what I'm thinking."

Melody squeaked when he breached her, sighed, and rode a sensual sea wave of unexpected pleasure. "Oh." She bit her lip. "Oh, Logan." He felt her, wet and swollen, against his fingers. "Not here," she said. "Not... yes, there. Oh, oh no..." She came, and Logan groaned near her ear, bit the lobe, adjusted himself against her to accommodate his pulsing fullness.

Quick on the uptake, Melody turned her attention outward. "Fair's fair," she said, unzipping his fly. "Don't guess I'm gonna be as lucky as you. I suppose you're wearing briefs?"

"Jeez, yes, I'm sorry, but don't worry, I'm gonna break out of them in a sec."

"Promises, promises."

The "big guy" did a happy dance.

"I'm goin' in for the goods," Melody said.

Logan released a full-throated groan of both shock and ecstasy when she took him in her hand. "Surprise me like that again, and I might spoil that amazing dress."

"Then let's contain the spill, shall we?" Without warning, Melody took his fully cocked self and slid him home as if she were a slick silk glove made to order.

"Jeez," Logan said aghast, trying to keep from coming. "Wait! Don't freaking move. Don't even breathe." He raised the flat of his hands to the wall behind her, closed his eyes, and took three deep, steadying breaths. "Get a grip, Kilgarven," he said.

Those words, more than anything else, gave Melody an indication of his personal struggle. Her smile grew so wide, she was glad he couldn't see it in the dark. "You okay?" she asked, even as she moved to slide herself along his length and test the strength of her power.

"Oh, God. I'm in heaven. You're so tight, I feel as if you're milking me-Oh please don't tell me you were still a virgin."

"Of course not, not technically anyway."

"Technically?"

"I tried it a few times, mostly aborted attempts. Messy business, isn't it? Didn't seem worth the fuss."

Logan cursed even as her unbidden movements forced pleasure to course through him. He tried to stop her one minute, rode her the next. "Stop!" he said. "Wait. I'm not ready. Well, I am ready. Dangerously ready, but... how long ago?" He kissed her, a gentle kiss, both more and less sexual than his previous kisses. "I just want to make it good for you, Mel."

"It happened in college," she admitted. "Every time."

"Years?" he gasped. "It's been years?"

"Logan?" Tiffany called. "Are you in here?"

"Do you get the feeling," Logan whispered in Melody's ear, between gritted teeth, "that the world is trying to keep us apart?"

"I'm telling you, Daddy, I don't know what to do with that man."

Melody rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. "Fate."

"No, goddammit." Logan kissed her with a new and desperate hunger.

"He'll find us, kitten," Max said. "Come back to the table."

Logan broke the kiss and released a long, deep breath. "God bless Max," he whispered. "No," Tiffany said, sounding so near that Logan jumped. "I'm not going back until I scour every inch of this place and drag his sorry ass back where it belongs."

Melody felt Logan's body stiffen even as his erection wilted.

They heard movement in the clothes racks, and Melody's heart rate doubled. Logan pulled her into the midst of the coats, pressed her up against the frame of the structure, and the motors began to whirr. .

"Damn," Logan whispered, and Melody twisted around to find the button she'd pushed with her backside. He grabbed her hand to stop her and pulled her against him.

"Now see what you've done," Max scolded.

"I didn't do anything," Tiffany whined.

"You must have, and frankly I'm tired of paying for your messes. Let's get the hell out of here."

"Daddy!"

"Out!" Max said. "Now."

Tiffany's whine faded while racks of clothes glided past, and Logan and Melody extricated themselves from the tangle.

Melody indicated the switch, and Logan shook his head and held up a hand for her to wait.

They put themselves back together and after a few minutes, as her heart returned to normal, he hit the button and stopped the whirring racks. They both listened before speaking.

"Close call," Melody said. "I'm sorry."

Logan ran a hand through his hair, though the coats had already done their worst. "Don't you dare be sorry. I'm the one who's sorry, because I have no choice but to go back to that damned table."

Melody's heart fell. She didn't know what she'd expected, but maybe she thought he'd go home with her and finish what they started. Yeah, right. "Well, I have a choice," she said, leaving without another word. She headed for the ladies' room, hoping Logan went back to Tiffany with his hair still scrambled.

Ten minutes later, after fixing her hair and makeup, Melody left the ladies' room and ran smack into Brian Westmoreland, literally. So much for an easy escape. Giving up, she asked him to take her home. He did.

They talked until four in the morning, about everything and nothing. Brian was a good listener. After a chaste kiss, he spent what was left of the night on her daybed.

Melody lay awake until dawn, waiting, listening for Logan's return, but he never came home at all.

Chapter Eighteen.

IN the light of day, memory and mortification got a stranglehold on Melody, so that her face stayed red and her ears remained hot for hours. Though they had not "gone all the way," she had slept-er, stood up with-Logan in a public coat closet. How tawdry was that?

Stupid is what it was, incredibly so. "Idiot," she called herself. "Fool." What had come over her? "Raging hormones," she said, slam-dunking her fishnet thong into the hamper. "Nothing more. Horny, that's all, and I wasn't the only one." She stopped picking up the mess she'd made in her bathroom the night before and remembered how good Logan had felt inside her, how good she had felt when he was. "Oh, God." Then she got a look at her calf-eyed self in the mirror and grimaced in disgust. "Get over it, already."

All right, they'd had a close call. Half a second more and-She groaned. "No protection, no brains, but lots and lots of sex drive." Another couple of minutes, and she might have needed The Keep Me Foundation for heaven's sake. "Jeez," as Logan would say.

Melody made herself a bracing cup of Chai, with extra whipped cream, to take the edge off her frustration, and she took the hot drink to the computer in her bedroom. She hit the power button and turned on her monitor. She would check her E-mail for fan letters. Adoration calmed her.

Logan had adored her... with his lips and with his body. He had-"Screw Logan," she said. "Think of something else." But what? The fact that he'd spent the night with Tiffany instead of coming home to her?

"Brian," she said, prodding herself out of her pity-fest. Brian was a great guy, she thought as she waited for her PC to boot up. If she'd met him first, instead of Logan, who knew?

Maybe she would say yes the next time he came to town. When he'd kissed her good-bye at seven, he'd said he would come back, and soon, and he promised to call her. Brian was safe, and judging by his stories, he didn't seem to be a workaholic. True, he had ambition, but he was nowhere near as uptight as Logan, though Logan had been anything but in that cloak room last night. Hard is what he'd been. Big, thick, and hard. Ready. "Wow."

Staying away from a man who made her crazy-stupid made sense, but staying away from her producer, and neighbor, would take a bit more than the usual amount of creative avoidance. To make matters worse, she'd promised to go trick-or-treating with him and Shane tomorrow night. The poor kid would be devastated if she didn't go, so she guessed she didn't have a choice. Shane had had enough disappointment in his short life. He didn't need her providing any more.

However, her life, and Logan's, diverged, and they must, she would make a point of staying in touch with Shane.

For now, at least until tomorrow night, she needed to keep a safe distance. Since silence reigned upstairs, a good indication that Logan and Shane had not returned, she'd walk over to Vickie's shop on Pickering Wharf and see if she needed help. Maybe later, or tomorrow, she'd attend some of Salem's otherworldly undertakings.

Melody donned a vintage seventies red crepe bell-bottom pantsuit and a pair of red suede ankle boots, the sturdiest walkers she had, in preparation for the only way to get anywhere in Salem during its busiest weekend. She tucked her long black wool cape tight around her and stepped outside to brave the brisk October wind whipping off the harbor. She loved the smell of pine from the crushed needles beneath her feet and the red, yellow, and orange leaves that crackled and shushed as she walked.

At The Gables, on the street parallel to hers, the line waiting to take the famous house tour whip-tailed into the yard. At The Pig's Tail, the pub where she, Kira, and Vickie liked to meet for dinner, a similar line had formed.

Pickering Wharf, a great tourist spot, and a prime location for Vickie's Immortal Classic, bustled with the weirdest of the weird. On Wharf Street, where Vic's shop was located, wandering warlocks, pirates, and ghosts terrified, amazed, and fascinated children and adults alike, as they handed out spook show brochures. A clown on stilts making balloon animals, and a dark and broody vampire both waved as she walked by.

"Hey, Miz Mel, what's brewin'?" the vampire asked.

"Magic menus, haven't you heard?"

"Everybody has. Good on you, kid."

Witches sat in herb gardens and sold brooms, gave psychic readings, and taught children of all ages to make colorful, star-streaming magic wands. Melody knew a great many of the vibrant characters, vampire and witch alike, some of them actors, many the real thing. She loved them all. She loved Salem... especially at this time of year.

Melody shouldered her way into The Immortal Classic, glad to warm her cold nose, and when Vickie saw her, she squealed and gave her a welcoming hug. "Now, what's a famous witch doing daring the chaos of a Salem Halloween? I saw you on the news this morning, by the way. You looked awesome. Too bad you didn't get that ball gown here, though. You could have given the place a plug." Vickie raised a mock-chiding brow.

Melody laughed, hugging her back. "I thought you might need a hand today."

"Holy Hannah, do I... come on." Vickie tugged Melody through the throng. "Excuse me, 'scuse, please," she repeated, "famous witch coming through. Make way for Salem's Kitchen Witch."

Melody laughed when they reached the safety behind the registers. Vickie stood on a chair to get the crowd's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, I know you've been trying to be patient, but help has arrived! Melody Seabright, our own TV Kitchen Witch, is here to save the day. Just get in line at her register, and she'll be glad to ring up your purchases."

Melody's line was out the door before she realized what an awesome businesswoman her once-shy friend had become. "You're going to owe me big time for this one, Cartwright," Melody said when Vickie passed her to go into the back room.

"Don't I know it," Vickie said with a giggling wink. Before long, Vic had put a sign in her window, notifying passersby of the star within, and the shop filled to capacity. Vickie continued to help customers make their selections, all the while assuring newcomers that the Kitchen Witch was indeed there. "Just purchase something, and she'll ring it up for you."

Melody could only imagine what the sign said. She helped out from ten that morning until they shut the doors at eight that night, two hours later than normal. "Good thing I've had experience, or I'd never have survived," Melody said, dropping into a sturdy old Windsor chair.

"Want to do it again tomorrow?" Vickie asked.

"You're paying double what you paid me last year, right?"

"I could pay you triple, and I'd still make a profit. Thanks, Mel. Really."

Melody pulled the sign from the window, read it, and laughed. "Come in and get your Immortal Classic receipt autographed by Melody Seabright, Salem TV's own Kitchen Witch. No wonder I have writer's cramp."

"You always said I had a good head for business. Will you let me buy you supper?"

The knock at the door startled them both, especially since the "Closed" sign had been hung up for the night. At first Melody didn't recognize Shane, because it was so dark outside, and he was in costume, but when she did, she was pretty sure the shadow behind him must be Logan. She opened the door and let them both in, though she did consider closing it on Logan. Judging by his tentative step inside, she thought he must feel as uncomfortable as she did.

"Hey, Mel, we been lookin' for you all day," Shane said, lifting his face for a kiss.

Melody's heart melted. "I never moved from this spot." She added a hug to the kiss. "Where did you look?" she asked, still kneeling in front of him, not meeting Logan's brooding gaze.