His Bride by Design
“Yes.”
“If they made horror movies for fashion designers and brides, that’s what it would look like.”
“Chloe, you’re scaring me,” he said.
“And that dress? I loved that dress. I loved it more than any other dress I’ve ever designed, because I looked great in that dress. That was going to be my wedding dress. Why did it have to be that dress Eloise was wearing when it happened?”
“I don’t know, Chloe. I’m really sorry. About everything.”
“All I have left is the sleeve. Bryce grabbed at Eloise to get her off of him, and all he got was the sleeve. He just ripped it off the dress. Robbie found it on the runway after everyone left and brought it back to me. It’s all I have.”
“You made it once. You can make it again,” he tried.
“No. Not after what happened. It’s cursed, too, like me.”
“Chloe, you are not cursed,” he insisted. “You know that.”
“My poor dress. Do you think it ended up in jail with Eloise? Because I just hate thinking about that beautiful dress being dragged across that filthy floor at the jail. Do you think maybe you can bail a dress out of jail? And leave the person wearing it there?”
“Chloe?” He looked really scared then, like she was freaking him out. She tried to get up, but he wouldn’t let her. “Not now, okay? The brides are still downstairs. We need to wait a while, until they leave.”
“Okay. I don’t want to see them again. They were mean brides.”
“Chloe, did any of them hit you? Other than the one who got you here?” He touched her poor cheek. “Did anyone hit your head?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“I think so.” She was with him, in her bed, even though that made no sense. “In my house. In my bed.”
He smiled encouragingly. “Good. You scared me for a minute.”
So it had happened. It was real.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Why was he here? Why did he care? Why was he being so nice to her? Why had he kissed her like that? She thought he hated her, if he felt anything at all for her anymore. She’d hated him as best she could for as long as she could, because that was the best way to get over him, to try to forget him. Not that it had worked all that well.
“Chloe, have you been getting any sleep the last few days?” he asked, looking like he wanted to haul her off to the hospital and have her head examined, at the very least.
“Not much,” she admitted. “I keep having nightmares. Very strange nightmares.”
“Okay, maybe you just really need to sleep,” he said, forcing a smile. “How about this? You stay here, close your eyes, and I’ll stay right here until you go to sleep.”
He took a couple of pillows and piled them up against the headboard, kicked off his shoes, pulled off his tie and suit coat, then sat down on her bed, settling her against his side, her head against his chest.
“I just … I don’t understand,” she said one more time.
“I know. Just go to sleep. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
It was the sweetest, most welcome thing he could have offered her. Rest, peace, safety, with him right beside her, watching out for her, just like in her dream.
He waited until she was asleep, and then waited a little bit longer, taking it all in. Being in her bed again, kissing her, holding her, wanting her so bad he ached with it. The smell of her, the joy, the absolute chaos, all still there, all just the same.
Except she was more vulnerable now than she’d ever been, and he’d come charging in like a man who had every right to be here and to protect her, sweeping her off her feet and fighting his way through a frenzied matrimonial mob to save her.
It was the charging-in thing, the every-right-to-be-there thing she’d most certainly object to, once she wasn’t dazed and sleep-deprived and maybe concussed. He hadn’t been able to find any evidence of a head injury, but she certainly seemed a little out of it, even for Chloe.
James was tempted to stay with her, but he had no idea what might still be happening with the riot downstairs. So, though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he disentangled himself as gently as he could, leaving her asleep, curled up against a pillow instead of him. He tucked covers around her like she was a child who needed to be protected from the cold, smoothed down her hair, kissed her forehead.
Then he dragged himself away.
Downstairs in the kitchen he found Addie and Chloe’s twin cousins, Robbie and Connie. Adam was still there, too.
They all looked up as James entered, giving him the thorough once-over. Too late, he straightened his tie, smoothed down his jacket and then his hair, trying not to look like a man who’d just crawled out of bed. Oh, well.
“Is she all right?” Addie asked finally, clearly having a hard time believing what she was seeing.
James nodded. “She’s asleep. Did she get hit on the head?”
They discussed it for a moment, then determined that no one had actually seen Chloe take such a blow.
“She was confused,” James said.
“She might still think this whole morning was a nightmare,” Robbie said, then looked at James, and mouthed, “I didn’t mean seeing you, exactly, was a nightmare—”
“It’s all right,” James said.
Had she kissed him back only because she’d thought she was dreaming and been confused about who he was? James had no way of knowing, so he concentrated on the business at hand.
“You took care of that crazy mob?” he asked.
Addie nodded, looking from James to Adam and then back to James, like she knew they were both up to something. “We wrote a lot of checks.”
“Okay,” James said, as if that settled that. If there was going to be a fight about the money, it was between him and Chloe, no one else. “I think you should post a security guard outside for the next day or so. You don’t know if you’ve reached the end of the crazy brides. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
He realized, too late once again, that it wasn’t his decision to make, and looked at Adam to save him.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Adam said. “I’ll just have to find—”
“I know someone,” James said, pulling out his phone. “Good guy.”
“Good,” Adam said. “Thank you.”
Addie had obviously heard enough. She turned to James and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I was … with Adam,” James said. “We were having a business meeting nearby when we heard about the riot at Chloe’s. Adam was concerned, so he came over to make sure everyone was okay. And I came with him. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Addie laughed out loud. “What did you do to Chloe?”
“I just got her away from the mob out front and brought her upstairs to rest. Nothing more.”
“And she just fell asleep?” Robbie was indignant now.
“I didn’t hurt her,” he claimed. “I wouldn’t do that.”
But he had.
They knew it. He knew it, too.
She hurt me, too, dammit.
He thought it, but didn’t say it.
“She’s perfectly fine,” he insisted. “Just a little confused, and she said she hadn’t been getting much sleep since the runway thing.”
“You know about the runway thing?” Addie asked.
“Half the solar system knows about the runway thing,” he said, which was true. He just wasn’t normally in the half that followed tabloid news. But still … “Just let her rest. I’m going to call the security guy I know.”
“I won’t leave until a guard gets here,” Adam offered.
James was so grateful for the out, he could have kissed Adam for offering, but then everyone might think that for some reason every man Chloe was involved with eventually turned to other men, and that was publicity she certainly didn’t need. So James merely thanked Adam and left.
He’d lost his mind tonight.
That was the only explanation possible for all of this.
He went back to his office and forced himself to work until midnight, then went home and tossed and turned until he finally fell asleep.
Chapter Three
Chloe had no idea how long she slept, waking, if possible, even more disoriented than before. She’d barely turned over in her bed to squint at the clock, when her bedroom door opened slowly, quietly.
Addie and Robbie peeked in, whispering furiously to each other.
“I’m awake,” she said.
They nearly tripped over each other getting inside, then just stared at her like she might have dropped in from a spaceship or something. She looked down at herself in the bed. She was in her favorite sleep attire, cotton spaghetti-strap camisole and pajama bottoms, nothing out of the ordinary about that.
“What?” she finally asked.
“She’s dressed in her PJs,” Robbie said. “He wouldn’t … you know … and then dress her again afterward.”
“Maybe he didn’t take the time to undress her at all,” Addie argued. “It’s not like it’s completely necessary. Maybe he’s that kind of guy. You know. In. Out. Done. Over. Outta here.”
“I bet he’s better than that. You know. You can tell—”
“I can’t tell. How do you tell just from looking that a guy will take the time to undress you completely first?”
And then it was all starting to come back to Chloe.
The crazy brides with the bouquets, but really with garment bags, probably with shoes in them, because they were heavy. Especially when people were swinging them at her. And then … then …
“Oh, my God! He was here?” she cried.
Addie and Robbie fell silent and solemn, just looking at her.
She started gasping for breath. “I think I might hyperventilate. He was really here?”
They nodded.
“He saved me from the rioting brides?”
“He did,” Robbie confirmed. “It was like something out of Gone with the Wind. Rhett and Scarlett on the stairs and all.”
“James Elliott was here, and he carried me up the stairs? To my room? This room?” She tried breathing faster and faster, conscious but in that fuzzy-headed way of one who’s slept too long and can’t really wake up.
“We followed as soon as we could,” Robbie said.
James must have been here for a while. She vaguely remembered him touching her softly, sweetly, his body pressing hers down into the mattress, his mouth on hers, just as hot and sexy as ever.
Chloe lifted up the covers and peeked beneath them at herself. Yes, she was completely dressed, and he was definitely a man to completely undress a woman in those kinds of situations, though she wasn’t confirming or denying any of that to Addie or Robbie.
So, he’d just kissed her? And held her? And then left?
“How long was he in my room with me?” she asked finally.
“Thirty-seven and a half minutes,” Robbie said.
They’d timed the visit? Of course.
“We were thinking of breaking in—”
“Because we thought … I don’t know, maybe you’d lost your mind or something, and we should try to save you from yourself,” Addie finished. “Should we have been saving you from yourself?”
“Probably. Yes.” Then she had a new, even more horrible thought. “He knew why those crazy brides were here?”
“Oh, yeah.”
She looked up into their equally worried faces and felt anew the sinking feeling of complete humiliation. Not just the rest of the known world, but James, too, knew her ex No. 3 had a thing for men, and he’d been here to witness the aftermath of her latest disastrous relationship.
“What in the world was he doing here?” she asked finally.
“He said he was having a business meeting with Adam Landrey when they heard about the riot. Adam was here, too,” Addie told her.
“I still can’t believe it. It doesn’t make any sense.”
He was here? Yes, she could still smell him in her bed. That fresh, clean, citrusy smell of him. She thought she could feel his arms around her, her body snuggled up to his, could remember feeling safe and cherished and so turned on. Why would he charge in, rescue her from the crazy brides and then carry her up here and kiss her? Then leave without a word?
Addie frowned at her. “He thought you might have been hit in the head, that you were a little out of it, a little confused.”
Oh, perfect. At least she had an excuse for whatever she’d done.
“Do you need a doctor?” Robbie asked.
“A mental-health professional. We should probably keep one on call.”
James was whistling as he approached the newsstand the next morning, then saw that Vince was waiting for him, tabloid in hand.
Uh-oh. Did they have photos of the mob scene from Chloe’s?
But as he got closer, he saw that Vince was beaming at him. “Today, it’s on the house! This and your Wall Street Journal.”
This, it turned out, was a tabloid with a cover shot of him saving Chloe from the mob!
“You’re the first one of my regulars to make the cover of a periodical I carry!” Vince said. “How ’bout that? I’ve been telling everybody this morning that I know you, that I see you here every day!”
James groaned and looked again. Could anyone—except maybe people who saw him every day—tell that was him? In the photo, his head was bent down toward Chloe’s as he carried her through a sea of rioting brides. She looked like a waif, a beautiful, fragile, helpless waif. And he was mostly just a dark suit with dark hair, he thought.
“So, you and that designer get back together?” Vince asked.
“Not exactly.”
“Hey, come ’ere.” Vince motioned for James to lean over the counter, closer to Vince, who’d pulled out his cell phone and held it out in front of them.
“No!” James pulled away as the flash went off. He could only hope he’d gotten out of the way in time. “No pictures. Not today.”
Vince looked mightily disappointed. “I was gonna put it up on the newsstand. You know, to show people that I really know you.”
“Yeah. I’m just not ready for that, Vince. And I really hate having my picture taken,” he said.
“You date that crazy girl, you’re gonna get your picture taken.”
He hadn’t thought of that when he’d charged to her rescue, but he couldn’t really say he regretted it, either. Because he’d gotten to see her again, to hold her again, to kiss her. He’d gotten into her bed again. He grinned at that thought. Not in the way he’d really like to be back in her bed, but it was certainly better than not being anywhere near her bed.
“I gotta ask you,” Vince said, grinning wickedly. “Once you carried her off like that, what did you do to her then?”
“Nothing,” James claimed. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Yeah, right,” Vince said.
A gentleman didn’t kiss and tell, after all, and he prided himself on being a gentleman.
He got to his office to see Marcy waiting for him, looking as freaked out as he’d ever seen her and carrying a rolled-up copy of a tabloid.
“Let me guess.” James went into his office, Marcy following. “You’ve never worked with anyone who made the cover of a tabloid before?”
Her mouth fell open. “You’ve seen it?”
“If it’s the one I’m thinking of, I have. Please tell me I didn’t make the cover of more than one?”
“No, just the one.” She laid it down in front of him on his desk. “We’re probably going to start getting calls—”
“From the tabloids? They know who I am?”
“Suspect, at least. The Bride Blog piece yesterday did mention you by name in connection with Ms. Allen, and if we’re going to get calls, I need to know what to say.”
She waited, looking so eager and excited.
“You mean, you want me to tell you what happened yesterday?”
“Only so I can do my job,” she claimed.
Yeah, right. She was practically salivating at the thought of getting the tabloid news before anyone else.
“There is something seriously wrong with you, Marcy,” he said.
“I know. Believe me, I do. I’m so sorry. Everyone has a weakness, a dirty little secret, and this is mine.”
And Chloe was his.
His weakness, but not his secret. Not anymore. He didn’t think he’d left any room for doubt about how he felt about her.
“She was in trouble, and I helped her out. That’s it. End of story. I’m not going to stand by and watch anyone I know get attacked.” He made it sound perfectly reasonable, he thought, like he was some sort of freelance do-gooder.
Marcy didn’t look like she was buying a word of it. She’d seen him charge out of the restaurant like a crazy man to get to Chloe yesterday, after all.
“So, that Bride Blog thing yesterday … I never actually saw it.”
“You’re not going to like it,” Marcy warned, handing him a printout with the pertinent parts highlighted in yellow.
He scanned the article. It referred to him as Fiancé No. 2 and mentioned that stupid eligible bachelor list he’d been on, then got to the she-just-wanted-him-for-his-money part.
Well, that hurt.
Still.
He’d hurled that particular accusation at her after they broke up. Sometimes he believed it, sometimes he didn’t, but it still had the power to make him seriously annoyed.
“Well, I’ve never been happy being No. 2 in anything,” he said, handing that piece of trash back to Marcy. “And please tell me they’re wrong about that stupid bachelor list. I can’t be on that thing again!”
Marcy looked a little nervous. “The Single Woman’s Guide to Bachelor Hunting in New York? I called. I’m afraid you’re going to be on it again.”
James cringed. He’d made New York Woman’s annual bachelor list for the first time a few weeks before he and Chloe had gotten engaged. Truly rotten timing, because women could be so aggressive these days. They’d been all over him. It had been a constant annoyance and a major source of tension between him and Chloe. So once again, this was the worst possible timing.
“What do I have to do to get off that stupid list?” he asked.
“Lose all your money or get married,” she said, demonstrating that logical Marcy was still in there somewhere. “Or I guess you could leave New York.”
No good options there. “Maybe we could just buy the stupid magazine and do away with the list.”
Marcy paused, pen and pad in hand, like she wasn’t sure whether she should write that down or not.
“I’m not that desperate yet. Still, there has to be something we can do.”
“Well, it seems obvious. You need a girlfriend,” Marcy advised.
“No, I don’t.” He was still smarting from the last one. Chloe.
“A very public girlfriend,” Marcy insisted. “Take her out, smile for the photographers, just as that stupid list comes out. That way, women will think you’re taken and leave you alone.”
No, they wouldn’t. He was painfully aware of that. Of course, it might be even worse, even more women, more aggressive, if he appeared to be completely available.
“I guess that would be less of a hassle than buying the damned magazine. When does the issue come out?”
“Next week. You’ll have to date fast.”
A very public girlfriend?
One of those women who needed three hours to pull herself together to walk out the door, who wanted every moment of her life gossiped about, speculated about and, best of all, captured on film.
Which made him think about Chloe. Vince had said that morning, Date her, you’re going to get your picture taken.
Chloe as his very public, fake girlfriend.
As if reading his mind, Marcy continued. “You’ve already got a good start on it. Your rescue of Ms. Allen was like something out of a fairy tale.” She sighed heavily. “It played very well in the blogs today, the way you took her in your arms and fought to get her to safety. People already want to know about the two of you.”
Marcy got a particularly dreamy look on her face. James didn’t want to admit that Chloe’s behavior might be attributable to a slight blow to the head that left her disoriented. It would ruin the whole fantasy–fairy tale element, and he’d seldom seen Marcy look so happy—and maybe a little goofy.
He feared he’d looked the same way when he’d finally seen Chloe the day before—just plain goofy-giddy-stupid with happiness. Hopefully Chloe was too confused to remember.
“Marcy, come back to me,” he said.
“Sorry. I was just thinking, from that photo, you might be able to convince people you and Ms. Allen have been seeing each other for a while, and that maybe she wasn’t engaged to that secretly gay photographer.”
Okay, James couldn’t deny that would be useful, if his purpose was truly to keep Chloe’s business from going under and maybe … to get to spend some time with Chloe while doing it. And he wanted some time with her. No lying to himself about that anymore. Or he was just nuts right now. Chloe Derangement Syndrome. He’d had it before.
“If anyone asks about Chloe and me, don’t deny it,” he told Marcy.
Marcy brightened instantly. “That you and Ms. Allen are involved?”
“Right. Tell them that we have been for a while.”
Marcy was positively rapturous now. James wouldn’t be surprised if Marcy had suggested this whole scheme because he and Chloe would end up in the tabloids some more. Marcy would love every moment of that.
“I want a full briefing on how the riot played in the blogs, the gossip sites…. You know, all that stuff.”
“Of course.” It was a dream-come-true assignment for Marcy.
“I have to go. Cancel my morning meetings. I’ll call you later about what to do with my afternoon schedule.”
He had to pitch the plan to Chloe. The one to save her business. She’d do anything to save her business, wouldn’t she?
Even pretend to be dating him again?
“He’s coming!” Addie whispered furiously to Chloe soon after they unlocked the salon doors that morning, happy to find no rioting brides and only a few tabloid photographers outside.
But now he was coming, and there was only one he, as far as she was concerned.
“How do I look?” Chloe asked, because she couldn’t help herself.
She was still seriously annoyed at how she’d just crawled out of bed, her hair a mess, still wearing her PJs, when he’d seen her yesterday. Every woman had fantasies of how great she’d look the next time a man who broke her heart saw her again, and in all the fantasies, she looked fabulous. He would be shocked at how good she looked, sad he ever lost her, and beg her to take him back. It was a universal female fantasy, and Chloe feared she didn’t look good enough for him this time, either.
“You’re good. You’re very good,” Addie said. “Just pinch your cheeks a little bit. You could use some more color. And wet your lips. That’s it. You want to look kissable. Very kissable.”
“I do?” Chloe wasn’t sure she could stand it if he kissed her.
“You’re right. It’s James. You don’t.”
Chloe sighed. “Why do you think he’s here?”
“I have no idea, but he photographs well, especially in rescue mode. So I think, despite everything else, we should be nice to him.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“But not too nice,” Addie said. “I don’t want him to hurt you again.”
“Right. Me, either.” She was such a wimp where he was concerned. “Addie, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Of course you can. You just had your whole career and your love life land in the toilet, and half the world saw photos and video of it, but you survived. You can handle seeing this man again.”
“You’re right.” He couldn’t possibly humiliate her as much as she’d already been humiliated. She had that going for her.
He walked in looking characteristically gorgeous and uncharacteristically unsure of himself. Or maybe he was afraid some disaster might strike at any moment, like the riot he’d been in the midst of the day before. Even Chloe was scared of walking into her own shop right now, so she could understand how he would be, too.
Addie gave her a smile and disappeared, probably just to the other side of the door of the showroom, if Chloe knew her sister. She’d be close if Chloe needed her—and she’d want to hear what James had to say.