His Bride by Design
It was ridiculous.
Even in her dream, she realized that.
James Elliott was too proud, too stubborn and too independent to ever admit he missed anyone. But it was a lovely dream, bittersweet and achingly real.
Then she woke up once again, not twenty minutes later, in her bed, yet still very much inside her very own nightmare as fashion runway roadkill.
James fought the impulse all day, but nightfall found him standing on the corner across the street from the big, old Victorian near Prospect Park in Brooklyn that Chloe shared with her various relatives, who all worked for her in the first-floor showroom.
He stared up at the window of the small attic she’d turned into a tiny apartment for herself, where she had some measure of privacy. This after fighting with himself all day about coming anywhere near here.
It felt weirdly stalkerish to be there, just looking up at her window, and he was a man who did not stalk women. He just needed to know she was okay.
Which he couldn’t tell from simply staring at her house.
Still, he felt a little better, just being this close to her.
He waited until the last light went out in her little attic, saw the slightest impression of her, he thought, ghostlike against the sheer curtains, as she walked across the room. He imagined her climbing into bed, her toes cold, letting her warm them on his, his hands hot against her cool, pale skin, tangling in her glorious hair.
So many nights they’d spent that way, together in that room.
He couldn’t have her back, he told himself.
He’d made her crazy, and she’d done the same to him. He was as logical a man as there was on earth, and he knew without a doubt that no one needed to be hurt like that a second time.
So once the light was out, and he knew she was safe in her bed, at least for the night, he turned around and went home, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t be back.
Chapter Two
The next morning, James faced the newsstand, hoping to see the usual mix of tabloid headlines screaming about drunken celebrities, corrupt politicians, alien sightings and baseball players on steroids.
No such luck.
That crazy model, Eloise, was back on the covers, in handcuffs, still wearing the wedding dress, her hair going every which way, mascara-streaked tears on her cheek, maybe a few drops of blood on the gown? The bridezilla label had been picked up by every tabloid he saw, now in this humongous font with letters the color of blood.
James winced as he stood there. Bridezilla? Had someone climbed a skyscraper in a bloody wedding gown and swatted at things? He didn’t think so.
What about Chloe? He scanned the news. Supposedly in a fit of rage, she’d destroyed every gown in her showroom with a huge pair of scissors. No way James believed that. She loved the clothes she made too much to ever destroy them, and Chloe didn’t do fits of rage. She just didn’t.
James got to the front of the line to hand over his money for his Wall Street Journal, and Vince said, “Your girl is back.”
“Yeah, I see that.”
“One of my customers just told me about this great video of the whole runway brawl,” Vince confided. “YouTube, that thing the kids like on the computer? Type in ‘Runway Brawl,’ and it’s supposed to come right up.”
James nodded. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. “I’ll do that, Vince.”
When he got to the office, he glared at Marcy, then gave a curt nod for her to follow him into his office. “People are online watching a video of the brawl at Chloe’s show?”
“More than a hundred thousand people so far,” Marcy said.
James grimaced. A hundred thousand? “Someone’s keeping a count?”
“Of course. At the rate the video’s being downloaded, it could go viral at any time.”
Which would be bad for Chloe. “We need to stop that from happening.”
“You can’t stop it. It’s already out there. It has a life of its own now.”
“There has to be a way,” he argued.
Marcy shrugged. “Maybe if Angelina Jolie actually left Brad Pitt or something equally earth-shattering.”
James sighed. “I guess we can’t make that happen.”
“I can’t. Unless you know how to find them, and you want to make a play for Angelina. I guess if you wanted me to do my best to seduce Brad … I mean, if you ordered me to, I’d have to do it for you.”
James considered. “You’re telling me you’d seduce Brad Pitt for me?”
“I’m a team player, sir,” she claimed.
“Well, it’s good to know you’re willing, Marcy, if it ever comes to that.”
“Yes, sir.” Marcy made a face. “I’m afraid there’s something else you need to know. Adam Landrey called. He said to tell you Chloe’s company needs another infusion of cash.”
James tried not to show anything in his face. “How much?”
“Six figures, at least.” Marcy clearly disapproved. “You broke up with the woman, sold your interest to your friend, then guaranteed he wouldn’t lose any money on the deal? You guaranteed his losses?”
“What if I did?” James argued.
“The two of you broke up!” Marcy repeated.
“I remember. Very well, thank you.” He glared at her. “Your point?”
“Are you going to treat me this well if I leave you?” Marcy asked. “Because I’ve never had a guy be that nice to me after I left him.”
“Leave me now, Marcy, or you might find out how badly I’ll treat you.”
She made a face, but left his office, closing the door behind her.
James went for the computer, found the video as easily as Vince said he would. It was like rubbernecking a particularly brutal car accident, except this accident involved someone he knew. Poor Chloe.
He picked up the phone to call Adam. When James and Chloe had broken up, she’d wanted him out, as an investor, immediately, and people weren’t lining up to take a risk in the fashion industry. James felt bad about the way things ended between them. He felt guilty and couldn’t bear to see her lose her design business, too. The only way he could get someone to take over his investment was to guarantee any losses the new investor might suffer.
Something Chloe would definitely not be happy about, even now, if she found out. It made James sound like some kind of controlling, overbearing, interfering man—all of which she’d accused him of being, when all he’d been trying to do was help. He was, after all, a brilliant businessman. What kind of a fiancé would he be if he didn’t help her? Chloe was brilliant herself, but creatively, fashionably. She didn’t have a businesslike bone in her body.
But all that was old news. Chloe should definitely be old news to him.
As long as nothing else really bad happened, she would be.
The Bride Blog: News of all things bridal.
Wedding Dress Designer Chloe’s Shocking Video Confession: She Never Really Believed in Love.
After three failed engagements, did she put a secret curse on all her gowns? So that no one else gets a happily-ever-after, either?
The question on the minds of brides-to-be everywhere: How could anyone marry in a Chloe gown and ever think their love will last?
Word is that brides are storming Chloe’s showroom in Brooklyn, demanding to return their dresses and to get their money back, much like the old-fashioned run on a failing bank.
How long can the House of Chloe hold out?
Time will tell, dear brides.
Time will tell.
Addie was scared to go downstairs that morning. They hadn’t actually had hordes of angry brides demanding refunds so far, but they’d had enough to scare Addie. What would they find today, after the latest Bride Blog piece, and a new video of Chloe, drunk in the bar the night of the bridal brawl, talking about her diastrous three engagements and claiming she never believed in love? Chloe even described herself as “cursed in love” in the new video. So Addie was scared to even look outside.
She crept into the showroom without turning on any of the lights and peeked out between the window blinds in the corner farthest from the door, and there stood … one, two, three hysterical-looking brides already, bridal garment bags in hand, no doubt the much-feared, supposedly cursed wedding dresses inside, ready to be returned.
“Oh, my God!” Addie cried, then crept away from the window, for fear that they would see her.
They weren’t even supposed to open the store until noon. This was the day they stayed open until 8:00 p.m., for brides-to-be who worked all day, and it was barely 9:00 a.m. now. They were about to be overrun, all because of that stupid Bride Blog woman!
James wasn’t surprised later that morning to see Adam looking a little uncomfortable across the breakfast table, saying he was sorry, but he just couldn’t put any more money into Chloe’s business right now. Another friend had already clued James in to the fact that Adam himself was not in the best financial shape at the moment. Hardly anyone was.
“I’ll take care of it.” James held out a checkbook for his personal account.
“If that’s what you want.” Adam looked like he was dying to ask what James was doing, bailing out a woman who’d dumped him a year and a half ago.
Fair question, and not one James cared to answer for anyone, not even to himself. He shrugged, tried to play it off and said, “She’s great in bed.”
Adam looked like he didn’t believe that reason at all, but volunteered, “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Good,” James said, ridiculously happy to hear it.
“I mean, she’s adorable, funny, seems very sweet, obviously unusually talented and driven when it comes to her work.”
James nodded. She was. What could he say? He hated the idea of her being hurt, of her losing her business, losing her dream. Other than that … he just didn’t know.
As James handed his check to Adam, Marcy burst in, looking absolutely petrified. “There’s a riot at Chloe’s!”
James gaped at her. “Riot!”
Marcy nodded frantically. “That Bridal Blog lady? She said there’s a riot breaking out at Chloe’s store right now. Disgruntled brides storming the place, wanting their money back for the cursed dresses. It’s all over Twitter. I thought you’d want to know right away.”
He did. He’d ordered Marcy to keep him updated on the Chloe situation. But now that he knew this, he should probably run in the opposite direction. His life had gotten weird from the moment she came back into it. Not that she was truly in his life again. It just felt like it. From the distance of cyberspace, his favorite corner newsstand and that one night on the street corner across from her house, she was having her strange effect.
And he was afraid he liked it. He’d liked it the first time. Life had been interesting, surprising, even felt a little … fun. He could have that again. She was in trouble, and he was going to help her. Crazy as it was, it was what he’d wanted from the moment he’d looked up and seen her face on those stupid tabloid covers.
“I’m going over there,” he said, feeling better than he had in ages.
Now that James had given in, he couldn’t get to Chloe fast enough.
“She makes me a little crazy,” he confessed to Adam, who’d gotten into the taxi with James, probably to see just how crazy James was. Over a woman.
“Chloe’s a very interesting person,” Adam said carefully.
“She is. I just need to make sure she’s okay,” James claimed, which was so obviously a lie. He was acting like a madman over her.
“Hey, I like Chloe. She’s great,” Adam began.
“You swear you never slept with her?” James just couldn’t help but ask.
“I swear. My life is screwed up enough—”
He broke off as James scowled at him.
“I mean, complicated. My life is really complicated. The last thing I need is to get involved with any woman. Even one as interesting and cute as Chloe.”
“Okay,” James said, satisfied for the moment on that count.
After about twenty minutes, he looked out the car window, and there, a block away, was Chloe’s shop, that huge, old Victorian where she lived with her two cousins and Addie. He saw some kind of commotion out front and two, no, three camera crews and some of those big, tall lights the TV people used when they filmed things.
James charged into the mass of crazy, garment-bag-wielding brides, just as one of them drew back to take a swing at Chloe, who looked like a waif in her pajama bottoms and one of those stretchy little spaghetti-strap tops she liked to sleep in.
He thought those were the sexiest things he’d ever seen.
Especially when she wore one of those tops and nothing else except a little scrap of lacy panties. Chloe at her softest, most inviting, rumpled best.
God, he’d missed her!
Just then, another bride took a swing at her with her garment bag. The blow sent her stumbling backward. James stepped in and caught her hard against him, feeling a huge surge of relief, just having his arms around her. She went limp like she suddenly didn’t have any bones and looked absolutely stunned, either from the blow or seeing him, he couldn’t be sure. He lifted her up into his arms, glaring at the garment-bag-slinging woman, daring her or anyone else to come close to Chloe now that he had her.
Chloe reached out a hand to ever so lightly touch the side of his face, like she needed to know he was real. “James?”
“It’s okay,” he said, tucking her face against his chest, trying to reassure himself that she was truly okay. “I’ve got you.”
When he lifted his head, he realized the crowd had quieted, finally.
They were all staring at him and her, and he realized there were a few still photographers there and that they were clicking away at the scene.
He didn’t care.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, spotting Chloe’s half sister, who’d always been the sanest one of the family.
“They want their money back for their dresses,” she said, glaring at him.
“Write them checks, if that’s what it takes to get them to leave,” he said.
“I’ll take care of it,” said Adam, who’d fought his way to James’s side. Adam, who had a check James had just written in the car, a check with lots of zeroes on it. Let everyone think Adam was covering the new debts, too. James would find a way to explain exactly what was going on to Chloe later.
His first thought was to get her away from this crowd, inside, maybe even carry her upstairs to her cute, quirky attic apartment, where he’d bumped his head on the low, sloped ceilings more than once. To the big cream-colored iron bed he used to share with her.
He hesitated, wondering if he was making a mistake by not taking her to his apartment in the city. Here she could kick him out whenever she pleased. When she got her second wind, she’d start her whole I-don’t-need-anyone routine. But he couldn’t risk giving this mob a second chance at her. That settled it. He took her inside.
Reluctantly, he set Chloe on her feet just inside the doorway. She seemed so slight standing there in front of him, so sad and defeated. He put his hand to the side of her face, tilting it up toward the light.
“Is it just this?” he asked, finding a slight swelling at her cheekbone. “Or are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
But her face was pale as could be, a few tiny, light brown freckles that he knew she hated spread across her nose and cheeks. He used to tease her that her freckles looked like fairy dust and kiss each one. God, he’d lost his head completely over this woman the first time and was clearly in danger of doing the same thing again.
He couldn’t help it.
He leaned down, his face lingering against hers, the tip of his nose pressed against her skin, soaking in the sweet, wild essence of Chloe, drawing his other hand through her pretty blond hair. It was even longer than it used to be and hanging loose and messy, the way he remembered it from rare mornings when she’d arisen from her bed before he left.
She was not a morning person, had always said she did her best work late at night. He didn’t mind. It was fine to get up and dressed and be able to stand there and stare at her in a rumpled bed, her hair all wild around her face, those little sprinkles of fairy dust on her bare cheeks.
How had he ever managed to drag himself away?
How would he do it again?
Was he not going to think of saving himself from her a second time? Self-preservation was usually one of his strong suits. But he just couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.
He picked her up once again and carried her upstairs.
Chloe was still thinking it all had to be a dream.
Monkeys escaped from zoos at times and attacked people. Bears walked out of the woods and into camping areas. Every now and then an elephant got loose from its ankle stakes.
But who got attacked by crazy, garment-bag-wielding brides?
Didn’t happen.
She’d never heard of it happening, never read about it, never imagined it. What made it even more improbable was that James Elliott IV would show up, charge into the crowd and rescue her from them. Yet, in her muddled mind, that’s what had happened.
He laid her gently on the unmade bed in her little attic apartment, then sat down by her side, looking concerned and strong and tall and absolutely gorgeous.
She whimpered and then said, “Pinch me.”
He frowned, touched his hand to the side of her face, feeling the spot where she thought the shoes in one of the brides’ garment bags had gotten her. “Do you need a doctor? I’ll take you.”
“No, I mean … I think I’m dreaming …” Then thought how that might sound to him.
I was dreaming you came charging to my rescue, after a year without a word from you …?.
No, not going there.
Not with James, especially if he really was here.
“I dreamed I was being attacked by brides with bouquets,” she said.
Which had him looking even more concerned. “Flowers? Chloe, those were garment bags—”
“No, I know that! I’m just confused,” she said. “Not in that concussion sort of way. In that this-is-really-weird kind of way. You know?”
“Yes,” he agreed, still looking worried.
God, he smelled so good, so familiar.
Chloe winced.
Not now. Her life was falling apart already. She could not do this now with him. She looked at him warily.
Collapsing in his arms the minute she saw him again was not how she’d ever imagined any reunion they might have. She was supposed to look her best, maybe all done up for a show, and he was supposed to look bleak and sad and lonely without her. He was supposed to say he missed her terribly, that he had never stopped thinking about her.
That’s how it was supposed to go.
“All of that really happened just now?” she asked him.
“Yeah, it did.”
“Pinch me,” she said. “I have to be sure.”
James smiled for the first time since she’d seen him again, looking heartbreakingly sexy and so appealing she thought about dragging him down into the bed with her right that minute.
“I’m not going to pinch you,” he whispered, ever so slowly lowering his head to hers.
Her whole body started trembling before he even touched her, and she could have stopped it. Truly, she had time. And some sense of self-preservation that was still alive inside of her.
After all, her most recent ex-fiancé had just been outed as a sometimes-gay man, having an affair with Chloe’s model’s boyfriend, outed on the runway at her Fashion Week show. Even Chloe, stupid as she could be about men, knew that the last thing she needed was for James Elliott to kiss her, even just once.
But he’d charged to her rescue like Prince Charming, saving her from hysterical, rioting brides, after all. She still wasn’t convinced this was real. So she let him kiss her. It wasn’t the stupidest thing she’d done lately, and it was one thing she actually wanted to happen.
He let his whole body sink into hers, those chiseled abs, the hard chest, wide shoulders. They sank into the feather mattress on her bed like they used to do. He’d loved this bed with her in it. She whimpered, a rush of hurt and longing washing over her, sending her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer.
“Don’t be scared,” he said, tenderly, sweetly, his mouth merely a breath from hers.
And then he finally closed that last bit of distance between them, his lips soft and firm, heartbreakingly familiar, and yet as tentative as he’d ever been with her. As if he knew how much this meant to her, and he truly didn’t want to hurt her. As if he knew what they were both risking, and yet just couldn’t stop himself.
She let her eyes drift shut, drew in that wonderful man scent of his. Her hands came up to frame his face, to slide into his hair. He had beautiful, thick black hair. He took his time with the kiss, didn’t attack with his mouth as so many men did. He coaxed. He soothed. He smiled against her mouth, teasing ever so softly with his tongue, while she wanted to open up and devour him whole.
He had to know that.
It had always been that way between them.
He took little nibbles of her, her mouth, her ear, her neck, back to her mouth, so carefully, so sweetly, with a kind of power and control that drove her crazy at the same time it left her in complete awe of him.
He could seem so cool, so reasonable, so strong. Was this some sort of game to him, a corporate takeover he’d planned out in minute detail and executed to perfection? But then she caught a glimpse of his face, his eyes, and she saw. He was burning up inside, as desperate for her as she was for him.
Was he still desperate for her? Had he missed her? Thought about her? Could he possibly want her back? At this, the worst moment in her life?
She lay there beneath him, in complete awe, her head still spinning, that perfect, hot, hard body of his pressing into hers, which was positively purring with pleasure.
He’d finally stopped teasing. Now he was kissing her for real, his body thrusting ever so slightly against hers in time with the thrust of his tongue in her mouth, everything about this, about him, as exciting as ever.
He could have her clothes off in seconds. She knew it. She could be naked beneath him, wrap her legs around him, open herself up to him in every way, and he could be inside of her, hers again, at least for a few moments. She wanted it, and so did he.
It would be so easy, and so good.
And then they’d be right back to where they’d started, everything that had gone wrong between them still there for them to deal with. She couldn’t trust him. She knew it. She’d caught him with a model named Giselle, seen it with her own two eyes, and that had finally been the end of her and James.
Chloe drew in a big breath of him, of everything he was, everything she felt, everything she’d missed so much about him, and somehow found the strength to turn her head away, to break the kiss, kill the moment.
He went still on top of her, slowly raised his head and looked down at her, passion blazing from his dark, beautiful eyes, along with a million questions. And he had that dazed look that had her thinking he was as confused as she was.
Had this really happened? Were they sure it wasn’t all a dream? A bizarre but very good one?
“You saved me from the brides?” she asked tentatively.
He cocked his head to the side, looking truly worried, then carefully, slowly, raised himself off her to sit by her side. His hand came to her face, tenderly working its way over her head, his eyes searching.
“Chloe, are you hurt?”
“No,” she whispered. “Not really. I was dreaming about my show. Did you see the video? It’s all over the internet. Everyone’s watching.”
“Yes, I saw it.”
“The way Bryce kept turning in a circle to try to get away from Eloise’s fingernails, and how her veil floated around them in circles, so you saw the whole thing through this gauzy haze, even the blood?”