Читать книгу The Wedding Must Go On - Robyn Grady - Страница 5

THE worst possible person at the worst possible time.

Peeking through a gap in her back-room door, Roxanne Trammel admitted that looks weren’t the problem. The guest waiting at her Sydney wedding salon’s point-of-sale counter was over six feet tall, delectably masculine in demeanour and build … those lidded ice-blue eyes and coal-black hair would set any woman’s heartbeat tripping a thousand to one, including her own.

Roxy wanted to shrivel up and die because she knew that man. Knew him and more. That she’d slipped into this wedding gown moments ago was only the icing. The not so funny punchline to a bad joke she’d sooner forget.

Out by the counter, a line creased between the dark slashes of Nate Sparks’s brows before he caught the time on his Omega then rubbed the back of his neck … the same strong neck Roxy had clung to with such fervour that fateful spring evening when they’d shared their first and only kiss. If she closed her eyes, she could still smell his woodsy scent … feel the graze of his sandpaper jaw along her cheek. The magic his touch stirred deep inside had transported her to another time. Another place. She could admit that she hadn’t wanted that kiss to end.

But it had, and in the most cringe-worthy way imaginable.

‘Anyone there?’

Angling those linebacker shoulders in their immaculate suit jacket, her visitor called out, then checked behind the counter, around a potted palm, while Roxy bit her lip and wished him gone. She had nothing to say to Nate Sparks and only a limited amount of time to solve the problem surrounding this gown she wore. Make that problems—plural. At least three people’s futures depended on some answers.

Outside, Nate found some Perfect Dress notepaper on the counter and extracted a thin gold pen from his jacket’s inside pocket. Gazing off into the middle distance, he tapped that pen against his strong cleft chin, then, with a swift sure hand, began to write. Roxy poked her nose closer and exquisite Duchess satin rustled against the white-gloss frame.

What could he possibly want to say? Forgive me for treating you so abysmally. Please come out to dinner. Not likely. His exit speed would’ve left a navy torpedo green with envy. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed their kiss as much as she had. No one could fake that kind of intensity, even a man who, by all accounts, wasn’t short on potential partners. There could be only one explanation for his behaviour that night.

Given they’d met at their respective friends’ engagement party and she’d spoken of her profession within the wedding industry in such passionate terms, he must have worried that she’d naturally want to take their amazing first kiss a whole lot further. Like straight down the aisle.

In reality, Roxy believed marriage was an institution not to be taken lightly. Experience said that sustaining a relationship took a whole lot more than the immediate sizzle of emotions and naïve wish for a fairy-tale life. Still, while she might not care to set Nate Sparks straight on her opinion, neither could she hide behind this door for ever. Her sense of dignity, for one, wouldn’t allow it.

Shucking back bare shoulders, Roxy filled her lungs, fanned open the door and entered the main room, a long satin stream swishing proudly behind. Nate’s attention snapped up and those ice-blue eyes near fell out of his head. Above the knot of his cinnamon-coloured silk tie, his Adam’s apple bobbed. A heartbeat later he remembered to smile.

‘You’re here. I was leaving a note.’ His gaze dropped and eyes widened before he pushed out a throaty, nervous laugh. ‘Uh, nice outfit. Do you always serve people wearing a wedding gown?’

She couldn’t help but bait him.

‘Only when I’m feeling lonely.’

When Nate’s eyes widened more, Roxy grunted. He didn’t know whether to relax and pretend to be a good sport or swap those Pitt Street lace-ups for runners, repeat history and get out while the getting was good. He needn’t worry. She’d sooner burn down her shop and play in the ashes than allow him anywhere near her lips again.

Head high, Roxy slipped off her twinkling tiara and set the veil down.

‘What can I do for you, Nate?’

‘Greg told me this morning. I guess Marla would’ve told you too.’

She unclipped both diamanté earrings, then weighed them in her palm. After a year-long courtship, ‘Their wedding is off.’

The person for whom Roxy had lovingly made this dress was no longer tying the knot. She felt gutted, for Marla’s sake mostly but, in truth, also for her own. This gown was the most beautiful she’d ever created … a dress guaranteed to garner interest within industry circles and at a time when she needed it most.

Nate’s deep voice lowered more as his gaze intensified. ‘Greg’s a good friend. My best friend.’

‘Ditto Marla and me.’

‘Dammit, those two belong together.’

‘After Marla was slapped in the face by those pictures,’ Roxy said, ‘she’s convinced that they aren’t. Frankly, I have to agree with her.’

Roxy’s heart flipped over. She knew a little of how Marla had felt. The week after that engagement party incident, Nate’s photo had appeared in a gossip magazine. Obviously in his element, he’d been snapped charming a big-breasted woman with swollen lips and hair the colour of rich dark chocolate. Roxy had been so angry—so hurt—she’d torn out the page and ripped it in two.

His jaw tightening, Nate admitted, ‘Those photos were incriminating.’

‘Her fiancé, intoxicated and handling a near naked woman …’ She huffed. ‘I don’t know what Greg’s so-called friend was thinking, publishing those shots on his social media page. And don’t you dare say that the “indiscretion” happened at Greg’s buck’s night. That’s no excuse.’ Narrowing her eyes, Roxy crossed her arms over her crystal-beaded bodice. ‘Where were you anyway? Aren’t best men supposed to stop those kinds of things from happening?’

Not that they should ever get anywhere near started.

‘I had a meeting early the next morning. I couldn’t cancel.’

‘I wish things were different—’ for more reasons than one ‘—but Greg did the wrong thing and, frankly, I don’t appreciate you showing up here unannounced trying to convince me otherwise.’

She hated seeing Marla so puffy-eyed and bereft. She wished there were some way to help, but listening to a man she already didn’t trust, a man who was adept at minimizing bad behaviour—that wasn’t the answer. Yes, Greg had always seemed so devoted; however, Roxy knew better than most, sometimes the ones you should be able to rely on were the very ones to watch out for. Given her own past growing up, Roxy supported Marla’s decision one hundred per cent. Still, that question remained.

What would become of this gown? She’d held such high hopes for it. For her big designer future.

For months the bridal industry had been abuzz with talk of an incredible opportunity—a contest. The winning gown would take its bow on the Parisian catwalks and feature in Wedded Bliss, the world’s glossiest wedding publication. Plus, its creator would be awarded a sizable lump sum and a year’s apprenticeship with New York’s leading bridal salon designer.

Roxy had lain awake at night dreaming of claiming the big prize. Since junior high, she’d only ever wanted to design wedding dresses, all kinds of creations to suit all kinds of brides. She couldn’t imagine a more exciting or rewarding profession. Five years ago, after completing a number of courses and experience at other shops, she’d set up her own business. But Roxy ached to learn more. Be more. All that she could be.

This contest was her chance.

She’d put two hundred per cent into her entry. Last week she’d made the top fifty. She’d bubbled with excitement. For hours had walked on air. But before she could let Marla in on her good news, her friend had broken down and announced that the wedding was off. Since all entries were required to take their big walk down the aisle by the thirty-first of this month, this amazing gown was no longer eligible for final judging. No wedding equalled no apprenticeship. No big prize money either. Suddenly Roxy’s recent run of decreased sales and increased bills seemed all the scarier.

Now, while she set the earrings on their red velvet cushion beneath the counter, deep in thought, Nate paced up the length of the counter and Roxy’s attention drifted to his hand sliding down the glass surface. It was just a hand, she told herself. Big. Tanned. Four fingers and a thumb, five very neat nails. And yet, despite how he’d embarrassed her that night, she couldn’t deny that even now memories of the way he’d held her released a slow wash of tingling warmth deliciously low in her belly. For those few moments when he’d kissed her so thoroughly, her every inch had glowed and come alive, a phenomenon that had left her feeling hot, light and slightly giddy.

A little like she felt now.

Damn the man!

Her cheeks burning, Roxy siphoned down a breath, gathered herself and caught the last of Nate’s comment.

‘…must be something we can do to get them back together.’

Closing the counter drawer, she refocused on her friend’s situation as well as her own. Lifting her chin, Roxy made herself clear.

‘Whatever you have in mind, count me out.’

As Nate held Roxanne Trammel’s determined gaze he knotted his arms securely over his chest.

Of medium height. Nothing bombshell about the body. Voice on the soft rather than smoky side. Her gestures weren’t exceptional. Neither were her walk or her laugh. And yet something about this woman was incontestably, frustratingly alluring.

Nate accepted that reality same way he accepted that steel softened at a predetermined temperature. A similar temperature to the one his blood had reached when he’d given himself over to Roxy’s lure six months ago. He’d hated leaving her looking so confused and pained that night, but he’d also vowed that their first kiss would be their last: should they happen to come within each other’s orbit again—at a mutual friends’ wedding, for example—he would not permit a repeat performance, no matter if the continuation of the human race depended on it.

That outfit she wore now ought to be reminder and turn-off enough. He was a self-determining man, a bachelor who intended to stay that way. And yet looking into those thickly lashed, sparkling green eyes now, he had to concentrate to keep from reaching out and making mammoth mistake number two. Only this time—if he caved and brought her crushingly close again—he wasn’t certain he would stop.

Crossing to the end of the counter, she said, ‘I don’t know why you’re stepping up now to defend him. Greg’s responsible for his own actions, even if he obviously needs a watcher.’ She shrugged. ‘Hope your meeting was worth it.’

‘Depends if you count a huge opportunity for launching a business venture that both Greg and I had worked on for months worth it.’

‘You’re becoming partners? From what Marla’s told me, Greg’s committed to the family business.’

Nate held that breath. He didn’t want to lay bare any secrets. But he did need her help to get those two reunited, which meant coughing up some answers and rebuilding a little good faith here. So, when Roxy in all her finery moved to lift a small cardboard box from the floor, he stepped up to help at the same time he replied.

‘Greg’s wanted to break out on his own for a while.’

He took the box from her arms and set it on the counter, after which Roxy opened the lid and extracted a frilly mauve garter. Nate’s gaze zeroed in on the lace and words came to mind. Seductive. Sexy. Guess a bridal salon sold all kinds of accessories.

Mulling, Roxy ran the silk loop around her index fingers once, twice. ‘His family owns a big steel company, right?’

‘PrimeSteel. A manufacturer and distributor of steel and finished steel products. I work in management for a rival company.’

As he spoke she opened a nearby drawer and, peering through the counter’s glass ceiling, arranged the garter on its own rumpled satin bed.

‘Greg and I met through industry contacts,’ he went on, his voice a little deeper than before. ‘We shared similar views about the future of steel, more specifically, colour-bonded products. Given the economy and environmental issues, we think the opportunities in less expensive and environmentally effective are endless.’

He expected to hear back regarding the most relevant patent application soon, then they could truly move forward.

‘So you joined forces?’ Roxy asked.

When she moved to extract another goodie from that box—a gossamer-thin, ultra-short negligee—Nate blinked and, in a heartbeat, imagined her wearing it. He saw the swell of her cleavage, a taut midriff too. He knew her skin would be smooth and warm, just as the sweep of her lips had been that night.

With a start, Nate blinked again … brought himself back. While Roxy arranged the negligee beside that garter, he cleared his throat and, diverting his focus, brushed down then inspected the tail of his tie.

‘Greg and I decided that we needed a big investor to do this and do it right. Last week, a prospective investor landed in Sydney. On the phone, Bob Nichols liked our business model, was interested in hearing more but, having hundreds of balls to juggle while he was here, he was short on time. Before heading back to Texas, he made himself available at five a.m. last Sunday—the morning after Greg’s buck’s party.’

‘How does Greg’s father feel about his son leaving the family business?’

‘Mr Martin’s not happy. He’s supportive of Greg but in exchange for that support he expects total loyalty, to the family, to the company.’

Returning to the box, she extracted a white satin triangle no larger than a skewed playing card. With its thin elasticized straps dangling from her fingers, she moved to lay that piece beneath the counter too—alongside that garter and X-rated slip.

As her hand smoothed over the display Nate’s pulse quickened and beat in his ears because now he imagined Roxy standing in a dimly lit room wearing it all—garter, nightie, that provocative scrap of a thong. In his mind, while he lowered to kneel before her and shaped his palms over her hips, she sighed out his name, filed her fingers through his hair and, stepping closer, brought his head near.

From far away, he heard her ask, ‘So, was your Mr Nichols still interested after your meeting?’

The real world faded back.

‘Absolutely. Not that it matters. Greg and I spoke this morning. Since Marla called the wedding off, he’s lost all motivation. For the time being Greg’s staying on at PrimeSteel.’

‘Why not go ahead on your own? With Mr Nichols, I mean.’

Her tone added, And leave me alone.

‘This was our project and I know Greg will be sorry if he pulls out now.’

She cocked a brow. ‘And?’

He exhaled and gave it up. ‘And two heads with steel manufacturing knowledge are better than one.’

He was comfortable with his abilities but in business—in life—a person needed as much reinforcement as possible. It was a slippery slope into failure and obscurity. His own father’s descent into near poverty had taught Nate that lesson well.

Roxy dipped a hand back into that box. Before she could pull out God knew what, Nate swiped that box of goodies off the counter and set it safely on the floor.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘if we get Greg and Marla alone, she’ll hear his side of the story and accept that those pictures painted him in an unfair light.’

‘Oh, gee, you think?’

Studying her mock pitying look, knowing there was something more behind it, he said, ‘They’ll work this out.’

‘Then they’ll keep their date at the church,’ she surmised, ‘and you’ll get your business partner back.’

Correct. ‘Question is—are you on board?’

‘You must be hard of hearing. I already said count me out.’

‘Give me some time and I’ll convince you.’

Her too-kissable mouth tightened.

‘No.’

He growled, cursing under his breath. ‘Five lousy minutes. I have a plan. It could mean the difference between your friend’s ultimate happiness and a lifetime of loneliness.’

‘So dramatic.’

He frowned. ‘Yeah, well, it’s pretty damn important to them.’

‘And Mr Goodie-two-shoes you has nothing at stake.’

This time he bit back the growl and pierced her with a judgmental glare.

‘This isn’t about Greg and his buck’s party, is it? It’s not about whether you want to help stop your friend from making perhaps the biggest mistake of her life. You’re being obstinate and surly now because of what happened between us all those months ago. You felt jilted and you’re prepared to let your friend suffer because you have a beef with me.’

Her eyes rounded with affront and anger. ‘If you think that argument will help your cause, you have more ego than even I gave you credit for. Ever hear the saying, water finds its own level? You treat women like chattels. Chances are you choose friends of a similar nature. But neither of you like being called out for it.’

Words burned on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of acting the way she anticipated and cutting her down. He was ready to tell her to forget he’d even suggested she help, forget he was ever here.

In fact, she could go to hell.

He strode for the exit, swung back the door and barely refrained from slamming it shut behind him. He was halfway down the busy city block, near colliding with oblivious passers-by, when the steam clouding his brain cooled a degree and his locomotive pace slowed down. As much as he was attracted to Roxanne Trammel, she was a giant thorn in his side. He’d be wise never to see her again, under any circumstances.

But, if he were truthful, he understood her upset over his departure that night. He’d never done such a thing before and apologizing as he’d hightailed it away didn’t rub off any of the tarnish. But Roxy didn’t want a confession. She did, however, want to help her friend. He was convinced that Marla should at least hear Greg out, and that wouldn’t happen unless he swallowed his pride, turned around and tried to persuade Roxy one more time.

Roxy was still standing at the counter in that wedding gown, staring blindly at the accessories under that glass counter, when the doorbell tinkled and, hat in hand, he edged inside the shop again. She looked over and, straightening, opened her mouth. But he held up a hand.

‘Before you run me out of town again, let me say I was a jerk for bringing up that other night. It won’t happen again. But I can’t walk away without asking you one more time to help give those two the chance they deserve, the chance Marla would want if she were thinking clearly.’

‘Maybe she is thinking clearly.’

Weary now, he exhaled. Her middle name was stubborn. ‘Just give me five minutes to tell you what I have in mind.’

She tilted her head, thought some more.

‘Five minutes?’ she finally said. ‘That’s it?’

‘Won’t even take that long.’

She almost grinned. ‘Anyone would think you were sure of yourself.’

‘About this, I am.’

She set her hands on her satin-clad hips. After another tense moment, she visibly relaxed and inspected her dress.

‘Let me change first.’ Her lips twitched. ‘I don’t want to give you hives.’

Moving through that back door again, she lobbed a final remark over her shoulder. ‘If someone happens to walk in looking for their perfect dress, tell them I’ll be right out.’

But it was well after five on a Friday—closing time. ‘Why don’t I just flip the sign over?’

‘Don’t you dare.’ He barely caught her last words as she disappeared out back. ‘I need every sale I can get.’

People in business had to be aggressive, but the energy behind that last remark was one hell of an admission. The way she’d spoken six months ago, Roxy lived for the thrill of owning this shop—for the privilege of personally contributing to the ‘magic of marriage’—but it sounded as if her enterprise wasn’t doing so well. Would she want to go ahead with helping Greg and Marla when she knew his plan? That she’d need to leave her shop unattended or alternatively manned for a few days? Perhaps if the deal included watching him being hung, drawn and quartered …

Admittedly, his behaviour that night had been less than chivalrous, but God knew he’d had his reasons for leaving, just as Roxy had had hers for latching on the way she had. Clearly she was in the market for a serious partner of her own. What was so wrong with letting her know he wasn’t up for grabs? Surely that was better than leading her on.

The bell above the door rang and two women edged inside; from the age difference and resemblance, Nate suspected mother and daughter. He strolled over to a rack of dresses and feigned interest. Roxy might be difficult, she might play havoc with his equilibrium, but, even if her shop were raking in millions, he wouldn’t get in the way of a possible sale. People liked space. He imagined that went double for brides searching for a wedding dress.

So he thumbed through some size six to tens while going over the points of his plan for Marla and Greg yet again. Aside from needing to vacate Sydney for a few days, he wondered whether Roxy would entertain the idea of taking on such an active role or even if Greg and Marla would fall for it. Marla would then need to get past the mistrust and hurt those pictures had caused.

On the other side of the room, the women were involved in a hushed conversation. Eavesdropping wasn’t Nate’s style; however, the words he caught worried him enough to push scruples aside.

‘We won’t find anything,’ the daughter bemoaned. ‘It’s suburbia. You saw the sign. My God, she sews them herself.’

‘We’re here, Violet,’ the mother encouraged. ‘Let’s look a while. You never know what you’ll find.’

Coat hangers clicked down a steel rod. Satin and silk rustled, and Violet sighed. ‘No. No. No. No.’ A second, more impatient sigh. ‘A waste of time.’

Nate hadn’t a clue; women’s fashion wasn’t his forte. But ignorance and prejudging were two different beasts. Clearly Violet had made up her mind before entering the store. If she took off her blinkers, bet she’d find something worth another look. Perhaps even worth buying.

Roxy had said she needed every sale. Given she was at least prepared to listen to his plan, why not return the favour and see if he couldn’t help here?

With a dress in hand, he rotated around and, as impatient as that woman’s sighs had been, his was filled with satisfaction.

‘This is perfect. My God, she’ll love it.’ His smile big, Nate nodded a greeting then apologised to the ladies. ‘Sorry. Thinking aloud.’

Curious, Violet looked around. ‘Is your fiancée in a dressing room?’

‘I asked her to meet me here. I can’t wait till she sees this dress.’

One of the mother’s pencilled eyebrows lifted. ‘I’ve never heard of a groom choosing his bride’s gown.’

‘Emma’s been everywhere, including interstate. She was thinking of having one made and a friend recommended this place. She was so disheartened. She’d even talked about calling the whole thing off.’

The daughter gasped. ‘No.’

‘She’s the woman of my dreams,’ he said. ‘I want to have babies with Emma. Lots of them.’

Now Violet and her mother’s eyes were shining with approval, so Nate hammed it up. He hadn’t been given his senior production’s lead in Ali Baba for nothing.

‘I never thought I could love someone like I love my Emma. I just need to help her find that perfect dress.’

‘That’s what this place is called,’ Violet whispered in her mother’s ear loud enough for Nate to hear. ‘The Perfect Dress.’

‘It is a pretty gown,’ the mother agreed, taking more notice of Nate’s impromptu choice.

‘Don’t ask me how I know but I do.’ With an enamoured air, he shrugged. ‘My Emma will look like an angel in this.’

Having moved to another rack, Mother drew out a gown.

‘Sweetheart,’ she called. ‘Look. This beading is exquisite. Did you say the owner sews these all herself?’

Violet examined the dress, draped it close. When she began to sway back and forth, searching for a mirror, Nate intervened again. A sign hung over the entrance to a nearby corridor.

‘The change rooms are that way,’ he said with a slant of his head.

But now Violet had found the price tag and told her mother, ‘I know you said not to worry about cost, but …’ When Violet mouthed the amount, Nate overheard and near fell over. Did women honestly spend that much on a single dress?

Fortunately, Mother didn’t bat an eyelid. She dashed away Violet’s concerns with a wave of her diamond-clad hand and both women had trundled off when Nate’s ears pricked at a persistent pssst. He pivoted around.

Hiding behind that door, Roxy was madly waving him over. Nate hung up the dress and crossed the room—not fast enough, it seemed. Her hand shot out and hauled him inside.

‘What are you doing?’

Gathering himself as she shut the door, he lengthened his neck and straightened his tie. ‘Drumming up business.’

She looked as if he’d admitted to eating chocolate-covered tarantulas for lunch.

‘You can’t lie like that.’

‘It’s not lying.’ The way he saw it, ‘I’m creating an opportunity.’

Horrified, she leaned back against the door. ‘I hate to think of the opportunity you’ve concocted for Marla and Greg.’ Gathering herself, she pulled up tall. ‘You can’t come waltzing in here and making up stories. This is my place of business. I depend on my reputation.’

‘How did I harm your good name?’

‘If those two ever find out and take it further, the legal term I think is fraud.’

‘They’ll never find out.’

She held the bridge of her nose. ‘Maybe I should go out and just come clean.’

Outside, the desk bell pinged. Roxy jumped, called out, ‘I’ll be right there,’ then glanced down at the gown she still wore.

Which, frankly, looked great on her. The white satin suited her skin’s natural glow. The sweep of her waist in that bodice was hypnotic.

Not that he would allow himself to be concerned with any of that. He was here to get his plan on the table and any bugs ironed out before they went ahead with Operation Back Together.

He said, ‘I thought you were changing.’

‘I couldn’t get a hold of the zip.’ She whirled around. As the train slapped his shin, he was presented with a tantalizing rear view. ‘You’ll have to help.’

Alarm bells—red and flashing—went off in his head. An invitation and bare flesh equalled temptation. Sure, what Roxy proposed seemed innocent enough but, in essence, she was asking him to help her undress. To open himself up and be vulnerable to the call of his baser urges, which he had trouble enough containing where Roxy Trammel was concerned.

He held up his palms. ‘I’ll pass.’

‘You can’t pass.’

Believe me, ‘It’s safer I don’t.’

‘I trust you not to do any damage.’ When he didn’t budge, she groaned and muttered, ‘Okay. Time to get this out in the open.’ Her fists finding her hips, she rotated again. ‘I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy the kiss we shared that night because, while I’m loath to admit it, I did. And I admit my reaction was … enthusiastic. But if you think I’m so desperate that I’d use sex to manipulate a marriage proposal, think again. And if I were to do such an abhorrent thing—’ her nose rose a regal notch ‘—it wouldn’t be with you.’ She hesitated, then went on. ‘In fact, I’ve been kissed since and, frankly, yours pales in comparison.’

Nate’s gape turned into a smirk. And she called him a liar. He knew just how much she’d enjoyed that kiss. Almost as much as he had.

Still, if she could play this Arctic ice-shelf cool, couldn’t he? Hell, it was only a zip. She wasn’t asking him to slip off a garter or nightdress or that itty-bitty pair of silk panties—which he’d best not think about right now.

When he lifted his chin, she lifted hers. He twirled his finger—turn around—and, hoisting up her skirt, she whirled again.

The dress’s back was scooped low and, with her long fair hair twisted up, Nate was greeted by an unobstructed, blemish-free landscape. Delicate twin shoulder blades bracketed a sweep of smooth tan skin and two accidental curls spiralled either side of the dent of her spine.

Pleasant warmth pooled then solidified high on Nate’s thighs. But he took a deep breath and, focusing not on the view but the task, doggedly searched. After a full-on few seconds, he huffed. No wonder she couldn’t find it.

‘There is no zip.’

‘It’s invisible,’ she told him. ‘Feel around inside the bodice facing.’

Nate scratched his head. Did she say invisible? And, ‘Bodice what?’

‘Slide your finger up and down the inside top of the seam.’ She dropped a wry look over one shoulder. ‘You do know what a seam is, don’t you?’

‘A rich deposit where minerals are found.’

She rolled her eyes as if to say, Men. ‘Just don’t tug too hard.’

When she turned back, Nate shook out his hands, rubbed his palms together. Not sweaty. Not cold. All good. He edged one fingertip inside.

Her skin was toasty-warm and smooth as the satin. And now he was aware that she was wearing the same perfume she had that fateful night. Subtle. Something with lavender? Whatever the ingredients, the scent was light and fresh and.

Nate filled his lungs.

The kind of bouquet I could breathe in all day.

He snapped open eyes that seemed to have drifted shut.

Roxy had implied that she’d dated since their evening together. Leaning closer, he slid his thumb down and felt around. He hated himself for needing to ask but couldn’t a guy be curious?

‘So, I take it you’re seeing someone.’

‘No one in particular.’

Chewing that over, he found something small and difficult to grab high at the top of the crease. Squeezing just enough to get a grip, he added, ‘And yet someone’s swept you off your feet.’

Those curls tickled the back of his hand as she purred. ‘I’ve been swept off several times since that night.’

His bite tightened and grip firmed more. He was jiggling in earnest when, outside, the desk bell rang again.

‘I’ll be right out,’ Roxy called pleasantly, then to him, ‘What’s taking so long?’

‘Inexperience,’ he growled. With a wedding gown, at least. This darn thing didn’t glide as it should.

‘Don’t force it,’ she told him.

‘I’m not forcing anything.’

Shifting, he began to work it in a hopefully more fruitful and earnest kind of way. Clearly this exercise needed a little more of the ol’ Nate Sparks finesse.

Three seconds later, she complained, ‘You’re too rough.’

‘Relax.’ His fingertips rolled, then tugged and rolled again. ‘Just a few seconds more.’

‘Nate, not so hard.’

‘Almost got it—’

The zip suddenly gave.

Actually what gave was the fabric splitting either side.

While Roxy stiffened, Nate’s heart stopped beating as he held his breath and stared.

It wasn’t much of a tear. Really barely noticeable. But when Roxy turned around, her expression said it all. Her face was a mask of disbelief, anguish. Rage. And her eyes, which had looked merely annoyed earlier, now spat green fire.

‘Tell me you didn’t tear the dress,’ she groaned. ‘You didn’t, did you? Not this dress.’

The anger in her eyes turned to fear then they edged with moisture and Nate felt the walls press in.

‘It’s not too bad.’ He indicated with his fingers. ‘Maybe an inch.’ Maximum two.

That call from outside came again.

‘Anyone there?’

‘Coming,’ Roxy said, but this time her voice cracked.

What could he say? If he could take it back, he would.

‘Roxy …’

Her eyes filling, she inhaled and in a heartbeat all her angst and energy seemed to drain away. She pressed her lips together. Swallowed. Shrugged.

‘Doesn’t matter anyway,’ she muttered and he frowned.

‘What doesn’t matter?’ When she swished out of the room, he followed. ‘Roxy, answer me.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied, ‘because this gown is—or was—Marla’s.’

Nate gaped. He’d wrecked his mate’s fiancée’s gown? Not a good omen. And why was the bride’s best friend wearing it anyway?

When he joined Roxy out front, she was looking around an empty room. Seemed those potential customers had given up and gone home. But then that same enquiring voice rang out again, this time from the direction of the dressing rooms. A moment later, that older woman appeared. On seeing them, she clasped her cheeks with glee.

‘Oh, my. This must be your beautiful bride-to-be. And you’re right,’ the woman went on before speaking directly to Roxy rather than Nate. ‘That gown suits you to a T. My Violet thinks she might have found the right one too.’

‘Really? That’s wonderful.’ Roxy’s disappointment at that accidental rip transformed into a frail but hope-filled smile. Then she evaluated her own gown. ‘But this dress …’ Her cheeks pinked up and she rubbed her brow. ‘Well, it’s a little hard to explain.’

The woman angled in. ‘No need. My Violet went through the same thing,’ she confided. ‘Anxiety. So many decisions.’ Her shoulders squared. ‘But when you’ve found a man who’s so obviously in love with you, so committed, how can things not fall into place? You’re a lucky woman.’ She slid that smile Nate’s way. ‘A lucky couple.’

Nate smothered a wince. The woman had it wrong. Roxy wasn’t Emma. There was no Emma and wouldn’t be for a very long while, if he could help it.

The woman looked between the uncertain two, then slanted her head. ‘Is there something wrong with the gown, dear?’

‘Oh, no,’ Roxy said. ‘I love it. More than any gown ever. The satin’s as soft as rose petals. Every line is exquisite. It’s just that this dress is—’

‘Beautiful,’ Nate cut in when he knew he ought to have let her finish and set the misunderstanding straight. But the dress was stunning, he thought again, drinking in those satiny curves and falls, whether Marla ended up wearing it or not.

When Roxy’s slow smile said she appreciated his compliment, a kernel of heat bloomed in his chest, a sensation he enjoyed as much as he spurned. Then she turned and admitted to the woman, ‘But I’m not this man’s fiancée.’

The woman blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I own this salon. I’m Roxanne Trammel.’

The woman absorbed the news and, nodding absently, introduced herself as Ava Morris before her focus swung to Nate. ‘Where’s your bride-to-be? Nothing’s wrong, I hope.’

Nate scrubbed his jaw. He’d only meant to help—to give Roxy a hand up with a potential sale. But duplicity, well intended or not, had caught up. Nothing for it but to face the music.

‘Actually,’ he began, ‘my fiancée’s—’

‘Out back,’ Roxy said, cutting in. ‘Emma’s choosing accessories.’

Mrs Morris held her stomach and breathed out over a relieved smile. ‘Well, that was quick!’

‘Happens like that sometimes,’ Roxy said, slipping Nate a ‘you owe me’ look.

A call from the dressing room. ‘Can someone help with this?’

Picking up her skirts, Roxy went to hurry off but Mrs Morris put up a hand.

‘I’ll help Violet. You see to your other matter.’

Mrs Morris rushed away while, sheepish, Nate tugged his ear. ‘Sorry about the Emma thing.’

‘You shouldn’t have lied. I in no way condone it.’ Roxy’s expression lightened a smidge. ‘But I do appreciate you trying to help. I didn’t need to embarrass you.’

As he’d embarrassed her that night?

But she didn’t look half as ticked off as she had a moment ago. In fact, her eyes were almost smiling, somehow reaching out. And he liked the positive change. Liked it way too much.

Nate cleared his throat and hauled himself back. ‘We’ll need to see each other again. To discuss the Marla-Greg plan,’ he clarified quickly.

‘I’ll give you my email address.’ She cut across the counter and slipped a business card from a holder. ‘Why don’t you send over your ideas for Greg and Marla? I’ll be with Violet for a while yet hopefully.’

‘I’d rather toss around ideas face to face.’

‘I don’t know what time I’ll be free.’

‘I could hang around. Help out some more. Maybe do some zip repairs.’ His weak smile faded and he tucked in his chin. ‘I really am sorry about that.’

She tried to hold her scowl. ‘Guess you can’t help if you’re too strong for your own good.’

‘I should have taken more time.’ Thought ahead.

Hell, maybe he shouldn’t have come at all. But he believed in Greg and couldn’t abandon him. He believed in their business too, and he definitely wouldn’t abandon that. There seemed no other way around this bind, and to pull this make-up plan off he needed help. He needed Roxy.

Looking radiant beneath the lights, she offered over the card, but Nate found his attention drawn instead to the side of her throat where a tiny pulse popped. Strange, but at this moment he seemed to feel that heartbeat as well as he felt his own. Steady. Deep.

Hot.

When she tipped closer, still offering the card, Nate extended a hand and accepted. He hadn’t meant for his fingers to linger, to stretch that bit further and brush over hers. And in that instant he saw the pulse in her throat beat faster and her gaze grow heavy while his dropped to her glossy parted lips.

Time and again, he’d wondered what would’ve happened if he’d stayed that night six months ago. What principle of physics decreed that he would share his father’s fate, as well as his grandfather’s, and back on down the line? But as he continued to drink in Roxy’s curious gaze the world fell away and a series of snapshots flashed through his mind…

His parents on their wedding day, two months after they’d met. His grandfather and grandmother in tails and lacy veil six weeks on the heels of a first date. If ever he mentioned the myth, his father would simply shrug. When a Sparks man found the right woman—the one who left his senses reeling and blood crashing like giant rollers on a shore—nothing else mattered. He might as well surrender. The toll of wedding bells was imminent. Marriage and domesticity a foregone. So, it would seem, was lack of personal growth and motivation for building security for one’s future.

After marrying, his father had given up his dream of finishing medical school and becoming a surgeon. Instead he’d taken a job as a hospital wardsman, which meant less income to support the five kids that came along but more time to spend with his beloved wife, the only thing in his life that seemed to matter. Not always as romantic as it might sound.

Nate couldn’t forget the weeks his mother had spent convalescing after a car accident when he was twelve. The children had needed leadership, strength, hope. Instead, their father had stopped eating, stopped communicating. He’d all but pined away for love. Or the time his father had had the chance to return to his education but had decided to support his wife’s dream of becoming a renowned painter when, hell, they could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone buy art materials and exhibition space.

Similar stories of Sparks men and their women had survived … hasty marriages followed by a lifetime of Byronic devotion. Was it genetics or a curse? Of course it could all be coincidence.

It was only when Nate realized his other palm had curled around the satin cinching her waist—when Roxy trembled and his head dropped deliberately over hers—that he knew the truth.

Coincidence had nothing to do with it.

He should have run while he could.