Wreck the Halls: A Novel

For the last hour, a lead weight had been sitting in Beat’s gut.

It was a cross between dread and urgency.

Something about the way everyone at the bottom of the staircase had looked at Melody troubled him. They got it. They saw what he did. And part of Beat really enjoyed the fact that people seemed to be recognizing Melody’s uniqueness. Celebrating those special quirks that made her so . . . Mel. Because it was about damn time.

The dread kicked in when he realized all her earnest, vulnerable charm was being broadcast in real time to millions of people, apparently. So, when it came time to leave the gala, the protective instinct that had been rising inside of him all night started to hum. Louder and louder, until he could barely hear the security team’s instructions over the noise.

Beat stooped down to catch the view from the front of the venue—and his stomach dropped through the floor. The crowd waiting outside stretched down the block.

He couldn’t even see the end of it.

The live stream had only been going for a matter of hours and somehow viewers had already found the time to make signs. Vaguely, he registered his name on a handful of them, but he was far more concerned with the ones that mentioned Melody.

PEACHES ARE MY FAVORITE FRUIT

COME PLAY WITH MY BOCCE BALLS, MEL

MELODY, WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Several people were also wearing . . . eye patches?

Melody seemed to be oblivious to the pandemonium outside, casually allowing security to guide her to the exit. “Hold up,” Beat growled, shouldering his way past them and blocking the exit. “Don’t you think a back door is a better idea?”

“He’s right.” Joseph approached with Danielle and momentarily lowered the camera. He coughed once. “I don’t want you outside in that, either, Danielle.”

The producer looked nonplussed, but quickly recovered. “I . . . very well.” She waved at the security team. “Would you mind consulting with the building manager to find a more discreet way for us to leave?”

“On it,” said one of the men, striding past while already speaking into a headset.

Danielle looked down at her clipboard where her phone was resting. “I expected a healthy viewership, but I didn’t expect this kind of . . . intense reaction.” She shook her head. “The numbers we’re seeing are shattering records. We’re at—”

“Is there any way we could not be informed of the viewer count?” Mel interrupted with a wince. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to know.”

“Understood,” Danielle answered. “Beat?”

“I want to know.” He needed to know what they were going into at all times, so he could make sure Melody was protected. “Just inform me privately, I guess.”

“Will do.” A beat passed while Danielle darkened the screen of her phone. Did she appear to be working up the nerve to ask something? “Just to keep everyone up to speed, we have a flight out tomorrow morning to New Hampshire. We don’t have exact coordinates as to where Trina’s compound is located, but we have a general idea.” She squared her shoulders. “It’s tonight I’m more concerned about.”

Melody frowned. “Tonight?”

As if on cue, the crowd outside started chanting her name.

Melody looked utterly and adorably confused. For some reason, Beat’s heart started to flop around in his chest like a trapped, injured bird. “She can’t go home,” he murmured, beating Danielle to the punch. “We’re going to be followed, right?”

“Right.” Danielle opened her mouth and closed it. “I didn’t expect this to get so out of hand so fast, Melody. But yes, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back to Brooklyn tonight. You’re in that ground floor apartment facing the street. It’s too exposed. Lola packed you a bag of essentials and I have one of my assistants looking into a hotel reservation as we speak, but it’s tricky, because we need permission to film—”

“Why doesn’t she just stay with me?” As soon as Beat offered the suggestion, some of the tension in his chest started to loosen. “I have a spare room. I’m on the twenty-second floor of a doorman building. She’ll be safe with me.”

“I’ll stay in a hotel,” Melody said quickly. “But thank you for the offer.”

Caught off guard, Beat tried to read her features and for once, he couldn’t figure out what she was thinking. “Why?”

She flicked a glance at the camera, her color deepening.

Beat turned, blocking the camera’s view of Melody. The noise coming from outside gave him no choice but to pull her close and speak against her ear, saving their voices from being picked up on the microphones and causing an eruption of cheers and boos on the street. “Why won’t you come stay at my place?”Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Just let me stay in a hotel.”

“Tell me why.”

She hesitated. “The crush thing. I don’t . . . it’ll be weird. For you.”

It took him a full five seconds to piece her explanation together. She thought her coming to stay at his apartment would make things awkward for him. And yeah, Beat had to admit there was a good chance Melody was right. Not only because she was nursing an infatuation with him, but because it ran both ways. If something physical happened between them, he’d have to share the parts of himself that he normally kept private. Strictly.

Still. “No. We won’t let it be weird.” He tugged her closer by her elbows and tried not to moan out loud when her tits met his chest. “Please don’t make me worry about you.”

She started to protest again, but the security team surrounded them before she got the chance. “We’re ready. The SUV is waiting around the block, so it doesn’t draw attention. It’s going to pull up at the last second, so be ready to hustle into the back seat.”

Melody nodded, transferring her attention from the security guard to Danielle. “Is this going to be forever?”

“I don’t know. I have nothing to compare this to.”

They all started cutting through the lobby toward the west side of the building, Beat keeping a hand on the base of Melody’s spine. When they reached the side door and the sound of tires screeched, followed by a cacophony of shouts, Beat’s heart lurched straight into his throat. The door opened and flashbulbs blinded him, but he squinted through the barrage of light and put himself between Melody and the fans rushing toward the SUV from the front of the building, obviously having figured out the plan. Thankfully, the door was opened and waiting, allowing Beat to lift Melody and all but throw her into the vehicle, launching himself in quickly behind her.

“She’s staying at my place!” Beat shouted over the noise to Danielle in the front passenger seat. He barely caught the producer’s nod before the SUV was peeling away from the curb onto the avenue. Escaping from the crowd did nothing to slow the pace of his pulse, however, and he found himself already picking apart the security plan for tomorrow. “It won’t be like this at Melody’s mother’s house, right?” Beat shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the camera, which of course, was still capturing their every mood. “No one knows where it is.”

“Correct,” Danielle said, communicating directions to the driver. “It should be low-key.”

Nothing about this experience was going to be low-key, Beat suspected. But before they faced the possibility of another mob scene . . . he needed to get through tonight. He’d meant it when he told Melody they wouldn’t let staying together be weird, but his attraction to her was increasing in volume with every passing moment. Not typical for Beat. Not at all.

He’d felt more than his share of sexual attraction throughout his life, sure, but it was normally toward the female form, in general. The promise of sustained, heightened pleasure was what drew him in. There was never a specific individual in mind.

But every hour he spent with Melody changed that a little more.

Now, with the chaos of the night behind him, he could no longer keep the thoughts at bay. Melody in his bed, edging him to the point of agony, his muscles straining, teeth drawing blood from his bottom lip, sweat pouring down his chest.

If he wasn’t planning on revealing his mutual crush on her—and doing something about it—then his protective attitude was likely leading her on. Giving her false expectations? That was unconscionable. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from guarding her, though, especially in this fraught situation. Protecting Melody Gallard was instinctive. Always had been.

How the hell did he turn it off?

“That’s me up ahead,” he told Melody, realizing their fingers were linked and resting on her crossed legs. Jesus, his hands were moving without a single command from his brain. Touching her was like breathing. “On the corner.”

She peered through the windshield. “Your doorman has a top hat.”

“That’s Reeves. He’s not going to be thrilled about the camera. Does anyone have a chocolate bar on them, by chance?”

“There’s one in my camera bag. Several, actually.”

“You’ve still got that sweet tooth, huh?” Danielle asked, looking at Joseph in the rearview mirror. “One more way in which we’re incompatible, I suppose.”

“Agree to disagree,” was all Joseph said back, his tone suspiciously lower.

Melody perked up while Beat rooted around in the camera bag and pulled out a Baby Ruth. That’ll do. “How did you say you two met?” Melody asked.

“We didn’t say,” Danielle replied breezily, as the SUV pulled up along the curb. “And anyway, it’s ancient history. Shall we get inside before another crowd forms?”

“Yes.” Beat waited for a member of the security team to alight, before stepping out onto the sidewalk and turning to help Melody—and froze. She hadn’t buttoned her coat upon leaving the gala and when she leaned forward to take his hand, the sides gaped, giving him an up-close-and-personal look at her tits where they struggled to stay secured inside her neckline. God help him, his dick turned to concrete at the sight, his bow tie becoming a noose.

A horn blared on the avenue while passing the SUV and Melody started, her foot catching on the lip of the door frame, and she pitched forward out of the vehicle. Beat’s thoughts were fuzzy, thanks to every ounce of blood in his head going south, but when she flailed, his panic galvanized him and he opened his arms just in time to catch her.

And oh God, her warmth, her shape and weight. Gravity gave all of it to him at once and the sensation was so incredible, sparks sizzled at the edges of his vision. Her breasts were full against his chest, her knees grazing the sides of his hips. Their laps smacked together and pressed, held, and he knew she could feel his hard-on, because her breath caught in his ear, the sound only making him stiffer.

Set her down.

How long was he going to stand there holding her?

Beat attempted a swallow and it got caught in his throat, but he disguised the resulting choked sound with a cough and reluctantly settled Melody onto her feet. Two big spots of color were spreading on her cheeks, her eyes landing on everything but him.

Oh yeah, she’d definitely felt it.

Another car passed with a series of staccato beeps and they simultaneously started speed walking to the building entrance. Reeves stepped out onto the sidewalk and doffed his hat, using it to ward off the approaching group. “Now, see here, you fine folks. Building management must sign off on any filming or things of that nature—” Beat handed Reeves the candy bar. “Oh, a Baby Ruth! Why, I haven’t sunk my teeth into one of these in an age. Now let’s see if I remember the ingredients. Peanuts, caramel . . . nougat.” The doorman broke off when he realized the whole crew had stepped into the elevator at the rear of the lobby. “Pardon me, Mr. Dawkins—”

“Could you guys stay with Reeves and bring him up to speed?” Danielle called to the security team where they lingered behind in the lobby.

“Yes, ma’am,” one of them shouted back.

“Mr. Dawkins,” Reeves tried again.

Briefly, Beat leaned out of the elevator and winked. “You never saw us, Reeves.”

The doorman sighed, regarding the candy bar in his hand. “You’ve tricked me again with chocolate. You’ve had my number since you came for visits as a teenager.”

Before the elevator door could close, Joseph reached into his camera bag without a break in filming. He extricated a yellow package and lobbed it through the opening where Reeves caught it midair. “Oh, a Butterfinger! I haven’t had one of these in—”

The steel doors of the elevator snicked shut.

Everyone exhaled at once.

“What did he mean you’ve had his number since you were a teenager?” Melody asked.

“This used to be my parents’ place. One of them, since they liked to split time between LA and New York. Whenever I was in town, I used to bribe him with chocolate not to squeal on me when I broke curfew.”

Melody’s lips twitched. “He won’t get in trouble?”

“Not a chance. He’s been manning the door so long, a bunch of the residents chipped in a few years back and bought him a partial stake in the building. Unless he fires himself, he’s not going anywhere.”

Melody’s shoulders relaxed. “Good.” Her fingers shifted in his grip and he couldn’t even remember when he’d started holding her hand. “So . . . when does the filming stop for the day?”

“We’ll get a final shot of you entering the apartment, then we’ll call it a night,” Danielle said briskly, handing Melody a leather bag, presumably packed by the network stylist. “We’ll be back at nine A.M. to pick you up for the flight.” She held up six fingers to them, mouthing the word six A.M. off camera, obviously to mislead the viewers. “Sound good?”

Beat wanted to argue about the final shot of them going into the apartment together. It was a move that would be purposely suggestive. Viewers had linked them romantically since the first second of filming and this would only increase speculation. But if he took issue with the final shot, he might give Melody another reason to find a hotel for the night. And he wanted her going back out into the cold to combat overzealous fans about as much as he wanted his wisdom teeth pulled without Novocain. Bearing that in mind, he kept the argument in check and a few moments later, he closed his apartment door behind Melody.

And they were alone.

Well and truly alone for the first time in their lives.

“The quiet has never been more noticeable,” she said, closing her eyes.

Her voice sounded incredible inside his walls. “Long day.”

“The longest.”

Make it better for her. After all, he was the one who’d dragged her into Wreck the Halls in the first place. With a lurch in his midsection, he took the overnight bag out of her hands. “Come on, I’ll show you the guest room. Do you want coffee, tea, or alcohol?”

“Tea. Actually, alcohol. Definitely alcohol.”

Beat tipped his chin at the hallway leading to side-by-side bedrooms. She toed off her high heels and followed him, their footfalls soft on the living room carpet. Without turning, he could sense her looking around at his furniture, his artwork, the view of the East River. Was his place what she’d expected? Better? Worse? He’d had a lot of friends here over the years, but never a lone woman. Something about Melody being the first felt alarmingly right.

He reached the guest bedroom and flipped on the light, smoothing down the dimmer to lessen the brightness, and set her bag just inside the door. The skin of his left shoulder prickled when she stepped up beside him, his obliques contracting. “It’s perfect,” she said, sliding past him, obviously being careful not to let them touch. “Thank you.”

A hum was all he could manage until his muscles loosened. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen for that drink.”

“Okay.”

He closed the door behind him, staring at it for a moment. The sound of her dress zipper coming down was like a stroke of fingertips across his lap. His mounting attraction to Melody had already been difficult to manage, but now that the camera was gone, there was a sense of freedom he hadn’t been expecting.

Ignore it.

Jesus, he had to ignore it.

They had a long way to go before Christmas Eve and he was already stumbling.

With an irritated headshake, Beat strode to the kitchen while removing his bow tie and tuxedo jacket. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, pulling down two glasses from the cupboard and setting a bottle of triple malt scotch beside them. He’d just about gotten his shit together when Melody walked out of her bedroom in a long, oversized T-shirt that really, truly shouldn’t have been so fucking sexy. But when she stopped in front of his floor-to-ceiling window, her silhouette against the glowing city lights made one thing painfully obvious.

She’d taken off her bra.

Beat poured himself a double.

“Is this how your parents decorated the apartment, or did you change it?”

“I changed it,” he said into his glass, before taking a long sip. “My mother’s style is . . .”

“Palace chic? Lots of whites and creams and golds? Swan-headed fixtures.”

The scotch burned his throat when he laughed. “You nailed it.”

Melody stooped forward slightly to peruse a collection of framed photographs on a table in the living room, causing the rear hem of the T-shirt to ride up, exposing her to midthigh. Beat swallowed thickly, begging the scotch to kick in and numb his reaction to her. Unfortunately, the sting of the alcohol only seemed to make it sharper.

“You know, I didn’t expect to be starstruck by Octavia tonight, but I was. She really lived up to her legend status. Stars are two-dimensional beings and some of them, in my experience, remain that way when you meet them in real life. But not your mother; she was brighter and more captivating than I expected. I can only say that about two other celebrities.”

Beat’s drink paused on its way to his mouth. “Who?”

She gave him a twinkling smile over her shoulder. “Springsteen and Tina Turner.”

“Wow. Good ones. Mine is McCartney.”

“You just had to one-up me with a Beatle.” She shook her head at him playfully while tapping one of the picture frames. “Who are the kids in this picture?”

The scotch took a wrong turn and settled uncomfortably in his stomach. “That was taken at summer camp. Those are my cabinmates.”

She straightened on a gasp and padded barefoot to the kitchen, mouthing a thank you when he nudged her glass of scotch in front of her. “You went to summer camp?”

He nodded once. “When I was thirteen, my father thought it would be good for me to get out of LA. Get some dirt under my fingernails and eat terrible food for a month.”

Melody sipped her drink experimentally. “Was it?”

When the prompt went right over his head, Beat realized how hard he was staring at the sheen of alcohol on her mouth. “Was what?”

“Were bad food and dirty fingernails good for you?”

“Sure were.” He forced a broad grin. The one he used with his friends. Everyone, really. “If I’m ever stranded in the woods, I’ll have a fire blazing within minutes. Two hours, tops.”

Why was she looking at him funny? Did she . . . actually see through his phony front?

“Was it really a good experience, Beat?” she asked, quieter this time.

“At first, it was, yeah.” God, his voice sounded hollow now. Unfamiliar. “Then the other guys slowly realized who I was. I think maybe they overheard some of the counselors talking. And then . . .” He tried to laugh, but it emerged flat. “Well, then . . .”

Melody’s hand fell away from her glass. “Oh, Beat,” she whispered. “They hated you.”

There was no comparison for the rush of gratitude he felt in that moment. He’d never experienced anything quite like it in his life. Not since the first time they met, at least. This woman sitting on the other side of his breakfast bar was the only person he knew who understood the weird shame that came along with being the offspring of a world-famous icon. It took every drop of his willpower not to reach across the marble countertop and drag her over the damn thing into his arms. “Yeah,” he said. “The first week was fine. Great, actually. Until my mother sent a care package containing smoked oysters, an engraved pepper mill, and Pellegrino. She meant well. She really did. But after the counselors revealed who the package was from, the cat was out of the bag. They started asking me questions about my life in LA and I had no choice but to be honest. At first, they seemed interested. They wanted every detail. But those details only served to make them resent me. There were still three weeks to go and . . .” He shrugged. “I went back every summer until I was sixteen, hoping it would be different. But it was the same every time. Let’s just say I slept out in the cold a lot.”

“What did they do? Lock you out?”

Locked him out. Sabotaged his campsite. Put dirt in his food. Every time, he sucked it up, too embarrassed to explain the situation to his parents. “Mel, it was good for me.”

Her nose wrinkled. “It . . . what?”

“Yeah.” He drained his scotch. “Everything came too easy. I didn’t even have to ask for new clothes or shoes or my own boat, Mel—they just appeared. Vacations, friends, even the press was so easy on me, compared to you. God, I hated that.” He closed his eyes briefly, until the memories of some of the meaner headlines faded again. “When I returned from camp, after weeks of having my food stolen and my survival skills ridiculed—and rightly so, I couldn’t light a fire for shit—everything went back to normal, but I . . . couldn’t stand the excessive comfort anymore. I just couldn’t stomach it.”

Melody watched him, not moving. “And now?”

“I still can’t.” Don’t say the rest. He needed to keep his mouth shut, but stemming the flow of his words was next to impossible when the one person who’d lived through a parallel existence was sitting right across from him, looking into his eyes like she could see clear through them into his thoughts. “But I have a way to manage it,” he said, voice like gravel.

His chest should have loosened with that confession, right? But it only grew oddly taut, like he’d swallowed a chicken bone. Melody seemed to sense the gravity of what he was saying, because she didn’t seem to be breathing. “How?”

“Mel.”

“How?”

He was already shaking his head. “Let’s get some sleep, all right?” Forcing a smile, he checked the time on the stove. “We only have six hours before that camera is back in our faces. And it sounds like we’re going to need some rest before we face Trina.”

“There isn’t enough rest in the world,” she said, absently, still scrutinizing his face. And he wanted to lay her down somewhere, press their heads together, and let her look, because no one would ever see him more accurately in his life. But that would invite more between them. More than he could afford or offer.

“Night, Mel.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she slid off the stool and crossed the living room, looking back at him once before disappearing into her bedroom. Her glass of scotch sat unfinished in front of him, but he could see the faint outline of her lips where she’d sipped. Without thinking, he picked up the glass and closed his mouth around the exact spot hers had been, gulping the clear liquid greedily, feeling a corresponding tug in his groin. He let the need bleed in . . .

And knew he was only about to make it worse.