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Undressed
HEATHER MACALLISTER


These weddings are starting with a bang! They never thought a fitting would lead to erotic confessions! But thanks to one very thin wall between the dressing rooms in a bridal shop and a tuxedo boutique, four lucky couples are about to be enlightened-and delightfully satisfied…The bridal shop's assistant manager hears a very suggestive song from the dressing room next door….An arranged marriage isn't always about love. But for one Indian couple, it might be about transcendent sex!A bride-to-be has a flirtatious exchange through the wall…unknowingly with her fiancé's twin brother….When a groom decides to surprise his busy fiancée with a romantic escape, he's in for a sexy shock. Because he accidentally kidnaps the wrong woman!









Praise for Heather MacAllister


“Witty, romantic, sexy and fun.”

—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd

“Curling up with a Heather MacAllister romance is one of my favorite indulgences.”

—New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“A one-sitting read for me. I got so caught up in this story that I really didn’t want it to end.”

—The Best Reviews on Male Call

“The plot was inspired, the dialogue was witty and the secondary characters were extraordinary.”

—Writers Unlimited on How To Be the Perfect Girlfriend

“Pure fantasy in the finest sense, Heather MacAllister’s Never Say Never crackles with sexy banter.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Funny, fabulous, fantastic! Heather MacAllister is at the top of my must-read list.”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Barbara Dawson Smith

“Smart, witty and fun…no one does it better than Heather MacAllister.”

—Award-winning author Amanda Stevens







Dear Reader,

My sister got married last year and, as her matron of honor, I happily immersed myself in all things wedding, including the hunt for the perfect dress. And I learned a very important thing: fitting-room curtains and flimsy doors are not soundproof.

As I waited in changing rooms and salon viewing areas, I overheard brides talking about everything. By everything, I mean the groom and sex. The more time brides spent trying on wedding dresses, the more indiscreet they became. Then I wondered if the grooms were talking, too. And what would happen if the bride and groom overheard each other.

The result is my first book for Harlequin Blaze, Undressed. I hope you enjoy these four stories, which explore what could possibly happen when you’ve have four talkative couples—and a very thin wall between the fitting rooms of a bridal salon and the tuxedo rental store next door.

I’d love to know what you think of my first Blazing endeavor. If you’d like to learn more about Undressed, you can visit me at www.HeatherMacAllister.com.

Best wishes,

Heather MacAllister




Heather MacAllister

UNDRESSED










ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Heather MacAllister lives near the Texas gulf coast where, in spite of the ten-month growing season and plenty of humidity, she can’t grow plants. She’s a former music teacher who married her high school sweetheart on the Fourth of July, so is it any surprise that their two sons turned out to be a couple of firecrackers? Heather has written more than forty romantic comedies, which have been translated into twenty-six languages and published in dozens of countries. She’s won a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award, Romantic Times BOOKreviews awards for best Harlequin Romance and best Harlequin Temptation, and is a three-time RITA


Award finalist. When she’s not writing stories, Heather collects vintage costume jewelry, loves fireworks displays, computers that behave and sons who answer their mother’s e-mail. You can visit her at www.HeatherMacAllister.com.




Books by Heather MacAllister


HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

981—CAN’T BUY ME LOVE

1014—FALLING FOR YOU

1025—NEVER SAY NEVER


To Pam Menz Baker and the XromX Pursuit group




Contents


Prologue

UNSTRUNG (#uaf5a4076-3c5a-5fe5-81f5-ba93bde74f79)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

UNVEILED (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

UNINHIBITED (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

UNBRIDALED (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue




Prologue


AT 9:20 P.M. on a Tuesday night, after trying on forty-three wedding dresses over three bridal-salon appointments during which her entourage of eight consumed several bottles of domestic sparkling wine, Cara Brantley at last found her perfect wedding gown.

Beth Ann Grakowski, aka Elizabeth Gray of Elizabeth Gray Bridal Salon in Rocky Falls, Texas, lived for such moments. The look of a dream matching reality…followed by the sentimental tears…the happy smiles…the hugs…the healthy profit when a designer gown sold…she loved it all. Someday, it would be her dream matching reality, her sentimental tears, her happy smile, her fantasy wedding financed by years of hard work…but until then, by golly she was going to make sure as many Texas brides got their happily-ever-after storybook wedding dress as she could.

On the way to her office to get the paperwork started, Beth snagged a leftover bottle of champagne for a private, self-congratulatory toast.

“Nooooo!” A wail echoed through the salon.

Beth Ann froze. Her clients were having a happy moment, the happy moment. There should be no wailing during happy moments.

“How could that have happened?” Mrs. Brantley’s voice rose.

Beth nearly dropped the credit card that would let Cara Brantley walk down the aisle in a strapless, crystal-encrusted mermaid gown designed by Georgia Hanover.

“It’s ruined!” sounded clearly through the wall Beth’s office shared with the large dressing room at the back of the salon.

A shudder rippled through her. Please don’t let it be the Hanover gown. She visualized rips. She visualized a string of beading cascading to the floor. She visualized Cara’s mother realizing that the number on the price tag was a 7 and not a 1 and quickly swiped the credit card.

Drawing a deep breath, she returned to the fitting room where she’d left Cara, her mother, her sister, her grandmother, assorted bridesmaids and the videographer Mrs. Brantley had hired to record a video scrapbook. Cara’s mother held the camera as she, Cara and the videographer stared at a tiny screen.

In the background, Beth heard the ebb and flow of a vacuum cleaner.

“Do you hear that?” Mrs. Brantley shouted as whoever was running the vacuum cleaner in the tux shop next door banged it against the shared wall during each pass over the floor.

Oh, yes indeed, Beth heard that. William. She was going to strangle him. She’d told him that the Brantleys had insisted on an after-hours appointment so the salon would be empty and nothing would interfere with the recording.

He knew, he knew that sound carried between the two back dressing rooms of their shops. She’d considered putting soundproof padding in, or something, but that would mean a disruption in business and, well, she didn’t want to admit it, but she liked to eavesdrop on an occasional male conversation in the tux shop’s dressing room. She’d been known to pick up a few tips on what styles men found attractive. Once or twice…okay, maybe more, she’d steered a bride away from a certain style based on a snippet of overheard conversation.

William listened, too. Every so often, hadn’t he given her a heads-up if a bride had a concern about a dress?

Beth waved everyone outside the dressing room and into the main area of the salon where three carpeted pedestals were positioned in front of a bank of mirrors. Before following them, she pounded once on the dressing-room wall with her fist. The vacuum whined to a stop. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said in the empty room.

The group had gathered by the sofas and cushy club chairs available for waiting fathers or others who shouldn’t be privy to the sight of the bride struggling into complex underwear.

“Listen!” Mrs. Brantley ordered dramatically.

The videographer held out the camera and Beth dutifully gave her attention to the tiny screen. Sure enough, she heard the vacuum cleaner start up on the recording. “I do hear a slight hum.”

“Slight hum?” Mrs. Brantley was in full meltdown mode. After years in the business, Beth was extremely familiar with the signs. “That ‘slight’ hum has ruined the video scrapbook. The chapter on selecting the bride’s dress is second only to the wedding itself. The look of awe and joy on her face when Cara knew she was wearing The Dress brought tears to my eyes. But can we hear what she said? No. No, because of all the noise.”

As the bride’s mother vented, Beth tried to figure out what to say. It wasn’t as though she could dictate to another store’s cleaning crew. But she’d tried. Oh, how she’d tried. The truth was that William Seeger, owner of Tuxedo Park Formal Wear next door, was also her business partner.

“The vacuuming has stopped, Mrs. Brantley. Why don’t you re-create the special moment now.”

“Re-create? Re-create? There is no way to re-create the joyful awe—”

“Dear madam, do please sit down.” William and his fake British accent had unlocked the front door, made their way through the racks of gowns and were now in the salon.

Fabulous. This was all she needed. What are you doing here? she mouthed at him.

“You pounded?” he murmured, then swept past Beth, and zeroed in on Mrs. Brantley.

“I find that life’s disappointments are never as dire when one deals with them from a comfortable chair while sipping champagne.” William and his British-butler accent led Mrs. Brantley to one of the sofas.

Beth hated when he used that voice. He only did it to annoy her after she’d asked him to class up his act.

She really hated that it seemed to work. Put a man in a tux and add a British accent, and Texas mamas just melted. Go figure. She herself was immune. William irritated her. On purpose. And enjoyed doing it.

Without looking away from Mrs. Brantley, William held out a hand for a glass of champagne, which Beth supplied, and then stepped back and let him do his thing.

Why was it women responded to him? Yes, he looked good in a tux—but what man didn’t?

It had fooled her, hadn’t it? Regretfully, William lacked any sense of taste, sophistication or elegance himself, which Beth hadn’t known before partnering with him because she’d been seduced by a black wool suit with satin lapels and a matching stripe down the side of the trouser legs.

True, they were well-fitted trousers fitted to something worth fitting, but that was beside the point. Or maybe it was the point. Whatever. Even though William was a natural salesman, she should have known better than to go into partnership with a man who’d named his original formal-wear store the Monkey Suit.

They’d both relocated their stores to Rocky Falls from Wanda’s World of Weddings for a fresh start—a more elegant, tasteful, sophisticated start. It was why Beth Ann Grakowski now went by Elizabeth Gray and why she asked Bill to go by William. Little touches made such a difference, but William thought she took those things too seriously. Beth thought he didn’t take them seriously enough.

“You don’t need to hear what she’s saying,” William assured Mrs. Brantley. “You know your videographer is going to make a collage of clips with music—I’ve always been partial to ‘Thank Heaven for Little Girls’ from Gigi, myself.”

Mrs. Brantley nodded and sipped.

Beth turned away so no one would see her roll her eyes.

“And look—I know what she’s saying. ‘Oh, Mum. I love it!’ And you said, ‘My baby. You look so beautiful.’”

“Yes. Yes, I did say that.” Mrs. Brantley heaved a great sigh.

Beth stepped forward with the credit card and receipt and offered a pen.

“It’s been a long, emotional day for you.” William actually patted Mrs. Brantley’s hand. Fortunately not the one holding the pen.

Nodding, Cara’s mother signed and now it was Beth’s turn to sigh in relief. But silently.

They all agreed to come back and order the bridesmaids’ dresses another day, and within five minutes, Beth was alone.

Except for William.

Tie loosened, he sprawled on the sofa with a self-satisfied look on his face. It was an appealing face, Beth supposed, although how that substantial nose and those crinkled eyes and the general rumpled effect of the rest of it managed to look attractive, baffled her.

He did not fit her vision of a romantic partner. Frankly, he wasn’t fitting her vision of a business partner. She served champagne and he offered his customers beer, thus perfectly illustrating their different outlooks on business and life.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked.

“Rescuin’ yer cute li’l butt.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You ran the vacuum cleaner on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“William!”

“Just trying to hurry them along.”

“But you jeopardized an important sale!”

“That girl and her mother have been in three times already, and you’re exhausted. I could hear it in your voice.”

“You were listening?”

“You bet I was.” He gave her a stern look. “It’s late and you’re here all alone.”

William had spent his evening in the fitting room that shared a wall with hers to make sure she was safe. If the appointment hadn’t dragged on so long, she’d never have known. “You were looking out for me.”

A corner of his mouth tilted upward. “I always do.”

Now how could she stay angry at him?

William patted the sofa. “Come have a seat, Beth Ann.”

“Elizabeth,” she corrected automatically. “And I’d better not.”

He regarded her a moment before standing. “You’ll always be Beth Ann to me.”

Thinking he was on his way back to Tuxedo Park, Beth started to enter Cara’s dress information into the new handheld computerized ordering units. But William took her by the shoulders and propelled her to the sofa.

“William, I’ve got work to do,” she protested.

“Time for a break.” He pushed at her shoulders until she gave in and sat down.

Oh, that felt good.

“Put your feet up.”

Beth shook her head as he sat next to her. “It’s late.”

But when he reached for her feet and propped them on his lap, she surrendered. Weak, that’s what she was.

Easing off one of her black pumps, William tsked at the red line where the stiff leather had pressed against her swollen foot. “You should wear more comfortable shoes.”

“These look elegant.”

“Do you think anyone notices?”

Beth pulled her foot away and sat up. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s all about appearances, William.”

He tugged on her other shoe. “You appear not to have a life outside this salon.”

“Oh, please. So I work hard. You do, too.”

“But I also play hard. You don’t play at all.”

As her shoe hit the floor, Beth realized that she had no idea what William did when he wasn’t at Tuxedo Park. If anything, she assumed he used the time to catch up on chores and the minutiae of life like she did. “What do you do?”

“Well, let’s see. I belong to a hiking club. I’m also a volunteer guide for Rocky Falls Park.”

She’d been expecting him to say he kicked back and took it easy.

“And a couple of years ago, I tried my hand at brewing my own beer. I joined the microbrewers’ co-op. Those are the beers I serve next door. The one with the tuxedo on the label is my recipe.” He smiled. “I’m kinda proud of that. Lean back.”

Stunned, Beth leaned. “Anything else?” There couldn’t be anything else, could there?

“I’ve been known to take off and fish. I also support Prom Pals, the group that provides tuxes to guys who can’t afford to rent them.” William started massaging her foot. “And I’ve attended services at all six churches in Rocky Falls.”

Beth stared at him. “I had no idea.”

“I know.” He stared back as he worked on her foot, flexing it to stretch her Achilles’ tendon.

“Why didn’t you ever mention any of that?”

“You never asked.”

“How was I to know? You should have said something!”

He moved to the other foot. “You’re only interested in William. That’s Bill’s life.”

“You are Bill.”

“Exactly. I am not William. He’s this starchy formal character you created.”

Beth opened and closed her mouth. Clearly, William had issues with their business model. “You want me to call you Bill? Is that it?”

“I want you to think of me as Bill.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Then it’s time I explained it to you.”

“But—”

“Relax,” he murmured, and his fingers began to work their magic.

The tension of the day melted beneath his warm hands. He slowly stroked her ankles and calves before gripping her feet and squeezing all the numb places on her toes.

“Ooooh, you give the best foot rubs.” Closing her eyes, Beth sighed and went limp—for just a moment—against the sofa. “Mmm.” She settled more deeply into the cushions. “That feels soooo goooood.”

He pulled at the end of her hose so her toes could straighten out. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Oooooh, yes.”

“You make the sexiest little sounds when I rub your feet,” he said.

Her eyes shot open. “I don’t make sounds!”

“You do.”

Did she? “Well…if I do, they aren’t sexy.”

“Yeah, they are.” His eyes met hers.

Funny how his eyes weren’t as crinkly as she remembered. She waited for him to grin or say something annoying, but his thumbs kept working the aching ball of her foot, a dangerous glint in his blue gaze.

The movement of his hands became more intimate and more caressing and Beth was aware that this was more than just another foot rub.

William—or rather Bill—had rubbed her feet many times before, but he’d never looked at her the way he was looking at her now, and his touch had never felt the way it felt now. Beth was caught in the intensity of his gaze. As his fingers worked the base of each toe, she felt a warmth spreading through her middle.

Uh-oh.

With one look, Bill had made her aware of him as a man. He wasn’t supposed to be a man—he was supposed to be her business partner. It was understood that the man/woman thing wasn’t a part of their agreement. At least, that’s what Beth understood.

Bill? Maybe not.

His blue eyes had gone molten and heavy lidded with desire. Yes, desire. For her. Without saying a word, he was changing their relationship and she didn’t know if she wanted that.

Still he watched her as he massaged her foot and ankle, and moved up her calf, stroking and kneading.

Those hands…the confidence with which he touched her…their strength…the caring…

A tiny sound escaped her. It could possibly be considered a sexy sound, if one wanted to think of it that way. Which she didn’t, but judging from Bill’s flicker of a smile, he did. He had a nice mouth. Why had she never noticed his mouth before? Why had she never noticed him before?

“Come play with me tomorrow.” His voice was deep and husky and vaguely erotic.

She couldn’t just take off. And even if she could, she wasn’t sure it was wise. “I can’t. We’re booked.”

“The weekend. Let’s rent a paddleboat and spend some of this nice spring weather on the lake.”

“Monica Teague is coming in. I should be here.”

“She’s not booked for the whole weekend.”

“Cara Brantley’s bridesmaids can’t come in during work hours.”

“What about Thursday? Friday? We can have lunch in the park.” The man just would not give up.

“The Indian-doctor couple is coming in,” she reminded him. “You have an appointment with Dr. Sharma, remember?”

Instead of backing off, Bill leaned forward until he was inches from her face. “Then you pick a time.” His eyes blazed.

Beth smothered a totally unexpected flare of attraction. “It’s difficult to plan—”

“Pick. A. Time.”

No. She was not aroused by this new forceful William—Bill. She was not that kind of woman. Well, maybe a little bit. Okay, all the signs were there—the heart going bippity-bip, the heated cheeks, the urge to close the distance between his mouth and hers—but she absolutely could not let him know. Because—because she wasn’t ready.

“If we dress the entire Brantley-Varnell bridal party, it’ll be our biggest wedding ever and something to celebrate,” she hedged.

“Good.” Bill leaned back. “I’ll take you to dinner.”

“I’ll let you know—”

“No, Beth Ann.” His smile was an intriguing promise. “I’ll let you know.”




1

UNSTRUNG


“THE NEW SYSTEM SEEMS to be working. So far, no glitches.”

Lia Wainright smiled in satisfaction at the comment from her boss, Elizabeth Gray, owner of Elizabeth Gray Bridal Salon. Honest to Pete, she’d been trying to get the woman to go electronic for the past two years.

Elizabeth was all about elegance and class and to her, nothing said class like the thick bridal-white paper she and her staff used to write up orders or “record selections.”

Lia got the whole upscale theme. And she agreed that the tone of a bridal salon influenced which designers would allow their gowns to be sold there, but maintaining the appearance of class and sophistication so important to Elizabeth Gray had become problematic. Lia didn’t think the payoff was worth it. The thick paper they used for orders took up a surprising amount of file space. The copier didn’t like thick paper, either. And all the information had to be duplicated onto an order form because the paper was too thick to make multiple copies.

The extra steps had caused errors more than once. Elizabeth caught most of the mistakes because she knew the design and stock number of every dress she carried. They should be doing so much business that Elizabeth couldn’t memorize all the numbers.

Elizabeth felt electronics weren’t elegant. But then Lia had found these beautifully sleek silver and charcoal-gray electronic-input tablets and carefully and painstakingly introduced them to her boss.

Why did it matter to Lia whether or not Elizabeth Gray Bridal Salon went electronic? Because efficiency meant increased stock turnover, which meant more profit, which meant eventually, Elizabeth Gray would need help. Lia’s goal was to provide that help and, ultimately, become a partner.

Elizabeth Gray had the ideal setup here in Rocky Falls, Texas. Lia was that rarest of people—a Rocky Falls native. Her parents owned the Wainright Inn, a local institution that had seen its share of weddings over the years.

Lia liked Rocky Falls, the Hill Country weather, the scenery and the artsy shops catering to weekend tourists. This was where she wanted to live, and she wanted to support herself away from her parents. Working at the Wainright had been great for after school and summers between college, but Lia needed to prove she could develop a business on her own. The salon wasn’t hers, but she’d been Elizabeth’s first employee, and immediately had seen the potential.

The falls and the carefully lush landscaping of the park surrounding them were an increasingly popular choice for outdoor weddings. Elizabeth had the right idea to have a high-end bridal salon in the area and it was genius to partner with Tuxedo Park, the formal-wear store next door.

But Lia knew they could do better.

“The staff has made the transition to the input tablets without any problems,” Lia assured her boss. Input tablets sounded more elegant than remote terminals.

The staff, all but one members of the iPod generation, had been thrilled to abandon the pen and paper. They’d made the transition in a matter of minutes.

“Another week or so and I think we can forgo paper backup,” Elizabeth said.

Lia merely nodded. Elizabeth thought they were still using the pen and paper and then entering the information in their units, but Lia had been printing backups from the computer—not exactly what Elizabeth had in mind.

Elizabeth was being overly cautious. Inefficient. And so help her, a bit of a fuddy-duddy for somebody only in her early thirties.

She needed to loosen up and she needed to loosen up with Bill—William—her partner, the owner of Tuxedo Park. The man had it so bad for her and the toe-curling looks he gave her when he thought no one was watching made Lia bemoan the lack of eligible single men in Rocky Falls.

Where all these brides found all these men to marry was a mystery to Lia. But she wasn’t going to settle and she wasn’t going to worry about it. She was only twenty-five. She had plenty of time.

“Did you verify that all associates downloaded their information before they left for the day?” Elizabeth asked as she always did.

“Yes,” Lia replied, as she always did.

“Did you know we’re dressing the entire Brantley wedding?”

Lia had not known. “Even the mothers?” This was why she’d pushed for electronic efficiency.

“Even the grandmothers.” A rare smile of triumph creased Elizabeth’s face. “They made their final selections this afternoon. The whole wedding party will be wearing pinks ranging from touches of blush on the bridal gown to deep rose on the grandmothers. The photographs are going to be stunning.”

Lia’s heart actually started pounding. “That’s so great.” She was already visualizing advertising. The salon needed more big-ticket weddings like this. And an entire party willing to coordinate was every bridal designer and salon’s dream.

“Yes. It is. It really is.” Elizabeth exhaled and removed the scarf from around her neck.

All associates wore black suits and Elizabeth, and only Elizabeth, wore a tie or scarf. Lia had rarely seen her neck.

“We will monitor the selections very closely and I’m counting on you to impress upon the manufacturer how important this order is.”

She reached for her collar and unbuttoned the top button.

Whoa. And then she unbuttoned the second one, actually revealing a sliver of skin.

She caught Lia staring. “Too much?”

She was serious. The woman was so tightly wound she had doubts about showing two inches of skin.

“For…?”

“William is taking me to dinner to celebrate.”

Of course he was. Lia wished she could pour her boss into a sexy little black dress for the poor man.

“We’re going to the Wainright Inn—are your folks at home, or is your dad still off on the wine-buying trip?”

“He’s just back. Let me call them.” Lia whipped out her cell phone. “Soft-shell crab is in season and he found a great wine to go with it.”

“Oh, you don’t—”

Lia held up her hand. If she couldn’t get Elizabeth into the little black dress, then at least she could help William romance Elizabeth this way. “There’s a private party tonight, so I want to make sure they keep at least one bottle back for you.”

As she spoke to the Wainright sommelier she gestured that Elizabeth should undo one more button.

Elizabeth shook her head. “This isn’t a date. William and I will be discussing the vests and cravats he’ll have to order for the men. Naturally, we’ll want them made of the same fabric.”

Poor William.

Poor Elizabeth. Or Beth Ann, as he called her, except Lia knew better than to admit she knew that.

“Wear the lace jacket,” Lia surprised herself by saying after she closed her phone.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Wear the lace jacket,” Lia repeated. “Think of it as advertising. No one has ordered it because it doesn’t look good on the hanger. It’s such a great topper for the mothers and grandmothers.” Before Elizabeth could object, Lia went to get the sample. The style came in the usual colors, including a black lace over nude, which was what Lia had originally been thinking of.

But that was before she saw the flesh-toned peach over nude.

Holy cow. Her boss’s pale skin was an almost exact match. In the warm, carefully muted lighting of the Wainright dining room, Elizabeth wouldn’t look as though she wasn’t wearing much of anything.

Could Lia convince her to wear it? Should she convince her to wear it? In the bright interior light of the salon, it wouldn’t look as sexy as at the Wainright. That could be a good thing.

Lia plucked the pale lace jacket from the rack and brought it to her boss. It was a size smaller than the black, but would fit if Elizabeth went without a blouse. “I found a flaw in the black lace, but I love this with your skin tone.” Lia briskly removed the hanger and held the jacket out.

When Elizabeth took it and hesitated, Lia added, “Dinner at the Wainright is such a great opportunity to show the jacket. Put it on while I get the right earrings.”

In the display case, Lia found the delicate sparkly hanging earrings she had in mind and returned to the dressing area, not sure whether or not she’d pushed her boss too far. But then she thought of William’s lustful gaze—William’s hot, searing, sizzling, I-know-my-way-around-a-woman’s-body gaze…If a man ever looks at me that way, so help me I will pay attention, she vowed.

Elizabeth was tying the ribbon belt on the jacket when Lia returned with the earrings.

Omigod. Lia flipped on more lights before Elizabeth looked up and saw the full effect in the mirror. I am so ordering that jacket.

The thing fit her like a second skin and had the perfect V neckline, sexy but not slutty.

Maybe Lia should order it in two colors.

“This is a Clive Hamilton, isn’t it?” Elizabeth smoothed the jacket over her hips and checked the rear view.

“Yes. This is the only design of his we carry.”

Elizabeth merely nodded before they both heard William at the door.

“Hey, Beth Ann, you ready for a hot time in the old town tonight?”

Elizabeth grimaced and Lia wondered if William fully grasped how much her boss loathed it when he said things like that.

“William.” Elizabeth closed her eyes.

And because she closed her eyes, she didn’t see what Lia saw, which was the stunned expression on William’s face when he first caught sight of her.

Lia dimmed the lights and watched his knuckles turn white where he gripped the door handle.

Yeah. She was definitely ordering the jacket for herself.

He visibly swallowed. Elizabeth was saying something as she hung up her blouse and suit jacket, gathered her purse and gave Lia totally unnecessary instructions for closing.

As Elizabeth approached him, William’s eyes regarded her with possessive intent. Make that possessive, lustful intent.

Maybe not in the old town, but there were going to be hot times tonight.

All kidding aside, Lia did want a man to look at her with that same fierce longing—man being the operative word. Lia had seen plenty of grooms since she’d begun working here and knew she wanted a mature adult man who understood the give-and-take involved in marriage and was willing to make the commitment.

William was so willing. She sighed a little as he placed his hand in the small of Elizabeth’s back and guided her out the front door. Just before the glass closed, he glanced back at Lia and the corner of his mouth lifted.

She gave him a thumbs-up. Not her place, but she didn’t care.




2


SMILING TO HERSELF, Lia locked the door and watched until they drove out of sight.

She flipped off the showroom lights and headed to the office, already calculating the cost of the lace jacket once she applied her employee discount.

After inputting the order on her unit, she verified that all the associates had downloaded their orders and then cross-checked with their appointments for the day.

Everything looked just as it should. Lia cleared out the individual ordering units and plugged them in to recharge.

In another hour or so, she’d be able to do a live chat with Zhin, her Chinese counterpart at the manufacturing plant. With the Brantley wedding, she wanted to make certain the entire order was put through together so the dye lots would match.

She went to the kitchen at the back of the salon for a cup of coffee, but changed her mind when she saw the open bottle of champagne.

“We shouldn’t serve our clients flat sparkling wine, now, should we?” Lia poured it into her coffee cup and returned to the office to wait until Zhin had arrived at work for the day.

It was funny that Elizabeth insisted on the finest of everything except champagne. Then again, an excellent sparkling wine beat cheap champagne any day. Except, this wasn’t exactly an excellent sparkling wine. Either Elizabeth needed to upgrade or Lia shouldn’t be drinking champagne out of a coffee cup. Probably both.

Lia idly searched Google for sparkling-wine ratings, and then Asti Spumante and Prosecco, the sweet Italian sparkling wines. Actually, she liked the idea of serving those. It seemed a hipper side of classy. And maybe they should invest in a cappuccino machine. Shopping for bridal and attendant gowns was an exhausting business emotionally and physically. Those beaded dresses could get heavy, and struggling into various girdlelike contraptions to support them gave a girl a workout. Elizabeth didn’t provide cookies and tea sandwiches just to be nice, she served them to keep customers from leaving the store and maybe deciding to go elsewhere to shop after having lunch or dinner.

And speaking of…

After a few more sips of champagne, Lia went in search of the shortbread cookies Elizabeth kept on hand.

She heard rustling when she opened the cabinet in the kitchen. Rustling in a place where food was stored was never good. Lia closed the door and kicked it, hoping to scare away whatever she’d heard.

She didn’t hear further sounds or find evidence that anything had been raiding the cookies when she looked inside. Okay, then.

Lia grabbed a box of shortbreads shaped like wedding bells and munched as she checked out Clive Hamilton’s Web site. Any designer who knew a woman’s body the way he did might have other outfits she’d like to order.

Hmm. The cookies were good and her cup was empty and Lia was thirsty. Virtuously, she drank a glass of water before filling her cup with more champagne. Leaning back in her chair, she propped her feet on the desk and the computer in her lap. That’s why they called it a laptop, right?

Opening the chat interface, she typed, Zhin, are you there?

Several moments went by. “Late? Ooh, Zhin, you lazy thing. Big night last night?” she murmured aloud.

Elizabeth was impressed with Lia’s willingness to work overtime, but the truth was that over the months, she and Zhin had become friends and Lia enjoyed “chatting” with her. Maybe someday they’d even meet.

“Zhiiiiiiiin. Where are you?” Lia spoke to herself as she typed. “Big order. Mucho importante. Major buckos. Lots o’ pink.”

Lia snickered to herself. Zhin prided herself on her English and would incorporate any new word she heard, slang or not. Sometimes those incorporations made Lia laugh until she sobbed and then her typing deteriorated, which tipped Zhin off that she’d been set up. Zhin took her revenge in subtle ways. Like only being available to chat at 2:00 a.m. or something equally hideous.

Hey you, Zhin typed. You’re losing your touch.

Nice use of idiom, Lia noted.

So you’ve got an expensive, big-deal wedding to dress? Zhin typed.

Exactly, Lia typed back. So can we discuss it now and not in six hours? She added a smile emoticon.

Exactly. Gimme the deets. Zhin was getting really good with American English.

Twelve shades of pink from light to dark.

Twelve? They’re making a killing.

But Zhin wasn’t perfect yet. Lia stared at the screen and then got it. You mean “overkill.” Making a killing means making a lot of profit or acquiring much stuff. Didn’t it?

You not going to profit?

Yes, but…

Lia stopped typing and reached sideways for her dictionary of slang and idiom. Much better to use a paperback than to get caught looking it up on the Internet. Zhin’s computer was networked to hers and once, instead of downloading orders, Zhin had downloaded the slang dictionary Web site Lia had opened. Mucho loss of face for Lia.

Her fingers were pulling the book from the shelf when she heard rustling again. In Texas, rustling like that usually meant giant roaches—enormous flying things that lived in pine trees, unless they found their way inside classy bridal salons.

She thumped the shelf with the book and the noise stopped. But only because it changed to a flap. Flapping sounds were much better than rustling sounds, bugwise. Flaps were more likely made by the cleaning crew next door than flying cockroaches.

Her computer chimed the first part of “Shave and a Haircut,” signaling that Zhin was logging in to the order section.

Hang on, Lia typed. I want to talk pinks first and verify that the order numbers match the shades we really want before you download the order.

Okeydoke.

These are the twelve pinks. Lia cut and pasted from the order and sent it to Zhin.

Please arrange in order from lightest to darkest, Zhin requested.

In order from light to dark we have Bridal Blush, Blush, Morning Frost—check that one, I think it looks too purply—Ballet Pink, Petal, Petal Blush, Carnation, Shy Rose, Lipstick, Deep Pink, Rose and Vivid Rose. And these are the numbers I have for them. With Zhin, it was best to do words and numbers separately.

Can you get actual fabric samples and eyeball them all together? she asked Zhin when they’d finished verifying numbers and whether or not the shades were still manufactured.

Eyeball=look?

Yes, sorry. This is a serious order. If one of the shades is off, please say so.

BBIAF.

BBIAF? What was that? She chimed Zhin. Nothing. “BBIAF?” she muttered. “BBIAF. What does she think she means?” Lia chimed “Shave and a Haircut” again. And then again. And again. Zhin? Come on. BBIAF? One more chime.

“Be back in a few!” a male voice called, startling Lia into jerking her hands from the laptop.

She hit the edge of the slang dictionary, which smacked into her cup of nearly flat champagne, and ended up knocking both onto her keyboard. As a guitar strummed the “two bits” part of the jingle, the remnants of a moderately priced California sparkling wine fizzed and sizzled over her laptop. No, the wine didn’t sizzle—that would be her computer sizzling. In the throes of electronic death, the screen flashed and went dark.

“No!”

“I’m telling you it is. BBIAF is ‘be back in a few.’” The voice was male and deep and so loud, it sounded as though he was standing right beside her. He had to be in the fitting room of the tux shop next door.

“I don’t care!” she shouted at him.

Turning the keyboard upside down, Lia shook droplets of liquid from it and tried to reestablish the connection with Zhin.

Nothing. The thing was dead. “No. No, no, no, no.”

“I’m telling you, it is.”

“I’m not talking to you, whoever you are. Go back to cleaning.” At this hour, he had to be part of the cleaning crew.

“What happened?”

“You scared me and I knocked my drink all over my keyboard while I was talking with China, thankyouverymuch.”

“Bummer.”

Bummer? “Oh, it’s a lot more than a bummer.” Who was she talking to, anyway? She knew the staff next door, but she didn’t recognize this voice.

Where was he? Lia stood and walked toward the end dressing room. When she opened the door, she heard soft singing.

I was talkin’ to China

And drinkin’ a lot.

But I spilled my drink

And then I was not.

“This isn’t funny!” She heard rustling. So that’s what it had been.

“Who the hell are you? Where the hell are you?” She was swearing. She never swore. Never. Made it a point not to because Elizabeth fined them for coarse language, as she called it. But sometimes…sometimes it was called for. Like now.

Lia heard strumming.

I was sleepin’

In Tuxedo Park

It’s nice and quiet

When it’s dark

But then I heard

An angel swear

And I wished

I wasn’t here.

Lia inhaled. And exhaled and inhaled again. “You do realize that I’m so angry right now that I am about to punch through this very thin wall and strangle you?”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Well, you did!”

“Sorry, darlin’.”

In spite of her anger, Lia couldn’t help noticing that the rich bass voice vibrated right through the wall and into her middle. Truthfully, slightly south of her middle, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

She didn’t like big bass voices that sounded like actors picked to play the Almighty in movies and commercial voice-overs.

She didn’t like being called darlin’.

And she didn’t like the way this voice made her strain to hear more and ignore her poor wine-soaked keyboard and—

Zhin. Today’s orders!

Lia yelped and scuttled back to the computer. She shook it upside down some more and then tried to reboot.

Nothing.

Okay. No time to panic. She’d just plug into one of the sales associates’ units.

Did that work? Of course not. That would have been too easy.

“Oh, come on!” She blew on the keyboard and then got one of the portable fans they used when the salon became too warm.

Women experiencing high emotion were hot and she didn’t mean sexually. Not to mention most of the mothers were of the hot-flash age. Small fans were in all the dressing rooms. Sometimes more than one.

After turning on the fan, Lia propped the laptop next to it. And stared. And waited. And hoped.

She was going to have to call Zhin. It was far easier for Lia to place an international call than it was for Zhin to get permission to do so. It wasn’t easy to actually get Zhin, herself, to the phone, but it was possible. Sometimes. Depending on who answered the phone and how well they spoke English and how well Lia could garble out the Mandarin Chinese phrase Zhin had taught her and she’d written out phonetically.

Yeah, the phrase she’d carefully stored in a flagged file—in her dead laptop.

With a sick feeling, she saw the recharging units the staff had used to record their orders and remembered that she’d erased their contents after she’d downloaded to the laptop propped next to the fan. No backups on fancy, expensive paper. And she’d stopped Zhin from accessing the network because she’d wanted to discuss the pinks first.

“I hate pink,” she said savagely.

“What did that poor sweet color ever do to you?” came from the dressing room.

“It’s not what it did, it’s what you did,” she shouted. “And stop listening. Don’t you have cleaning to do?”

“Nope.”

Lia marched over to the back dressing room and spoke next to the wall. “What are you doing in there?”

“Playin’ my guitar.” He strummed as he spoke.

Lia still didn’t recognize his voice. She would have remembered that voice. “Are you part of the cleaning crew?”

“Nope.” He plinked out a phrase, repeated it, and then changed a couple of notes.

“Who are you? Does anybody know you’re there?”

He chuckled. “You do.” Strum, strum.

She did not have time for this. “Give me a reason not to call the police.”

“You’re not a poker player, are you? You should have told me you’d already called the police. Now I know I’ve got plenty of time to get away or, even worse, come over there and tie you up…empty the till…steal a few wedding gowns…I could get up to all sorts of mischief.”

Lia felt no threat from him based on nothing more than his voice and, well, the fact that he’d used the word mischief. Not that she’d had any experience with hard-core criminals, but she couldn’t imagine them referring to illegal activity as “mischief.” “Come on. Who are you?”

“You know Jimmy?”

“Jimmy?”

“He works here. I’m his cousin.”

“Oh, you mean James.” James was a junior associate at Tuxedo Park.

“Actually, I meant Jimmy. He hasn’t been James since he was christened.”

Prissy James had a cousin with a voice like his? “That still doesn’t tell me what you’re doing at Tuxedo Park after hours.”

“It’s quiet. I can work on my music here without anybody listening. Nobody’s bothered me…until tonight.”

“I’m bothering you?” What nerve.

“You’re pretty noisy over there.”

“I—” She was going to burst a blood vessel. She was. Really. “I work here!”

“Which one are you? What do you look like?”

Oh, no. She did not have time to flirt through the dressing-room wall with a deep voice she knew only as “Jimmy’s Cousin.”

“I look like a desperate assistant manager who just lost the day’s orders and is about to be fired.”

“Would that be a blond assistant manager?”

Men. “That would not.”

“A brunette assistant manager?”

Lia looked at her light brown hair in the mirror. She probably should streak it into something richer, but she didn’t want the bother of upkeep. “Probably not.” And on that note, she stepped out of the dressing room and into the office. He said something, but she ignored him.

The computer was still dark, but the keyboard had dried. Zhin probably hadn’t noticed that they’d lost the connection since she was still gathering fabric samples.

This was the pits. She’d have to call Elizabeth and tell her what happened.

She sighed. Poor William. He had his hopes up, among other things, she’d bet, and he wasn’t getting lucky tonight. What a waste of a fabulous lace jacket.

“Helloooooo,” a deep voice called.

“Leave me alone,” Lia shouted from the desk.

“I’m not gonna do that. You intrigue me.”

Lia rolled her eyes and poked at the dead computer.

“Tell me you’re not intrigued.” His voice sounded closer, as though he’d moved to the other side of the dressing room.

“I’m not intrigued.”

“If you weren’t mad at me would you be intrigued?”

“No.”

She heard something brush against the carpet and then, “Golden brown.”




3


AS THE DEEP VOICE sounded in the doorway behind her, Lia jumped and banged her funny bone on the edge of the desk.

She rubbed her elbow as he sang, sans guitar, “I dream of Jeannie with the golden-brown hair…Your name wouldn’t happen to be Jeannie, would it?”

He grinned down at her, a living, breathing, I’m-oh-so-charming-and-I-know-it country-lite rocker cliché.

One by one, she mentally ticked off the type:

Longish hair carefully cut in a bazillion layers so it would always look just a little shaggy so he wouldn’t be accused of trying too hard—check. Bonus check for sun streaks.

Stubble—check.

Devilish half smile—check.

Optional one-sided dimple—check.

A few lines crinkling around his eyes to demonstrate that he’d been around—check.

Long nose and/or prominent nose that had once been broken or had a kink of some sort in it. The importance of an interesting nose on a man should never be underestimated. Perfect noses on men meant bland good looks. The noticeably imperfect nose meant intriguing good looks. Why was this? Lia had no idea, but he had a definite check in the nose department.

Blue eyes—check. Eye color had never mattered to Lia, but blue eyes seemed to always come with this type.

Ability to slouch attractively…She looked at him lounging against the door frame. An A+ slouch. Check.

Button-down shirt with cuffs rolled up—check.

Jeans carefully worn and faded in just the right places—she’d give him a check even though she hadn’t seen the rear view because any guy who fit the type this exactly was bound to be wearing a pair that hugged his butt to his best advantage.

Broken-in boots—check.

Voice…here he didn’t get a check because the template voice was usually a tenor. When he spoke, this man’s surprisingly deep, lush bass pulsed all the way through her like the vibrate setting on a bed in a cheap motel.

Oh, and the attitude. He definitely had the I-can-be-reformed-by-the-right-woman attitude, accompanied by the care-to-try? twist to his mouth. Double and triple check.

As though she was interested in wasting time reforming anyone. He was not her type, except that she hadn’t quite found anyone who was her type, and in the meantime parts of her had decided that he would do and were reacting accordingly.

Stupid parts.

“You said you were the assistant manager,” he said. “That must make you Lia.”

She braced herself against the unwanted vibrations from his voice and said nothing, although she’d never heard her name poured from a man’s mouth in quite that way.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he offered.

“You can do better than that.”

“I can.” He smiled his one-dimpled half smile. “But you haven’t convinced me to try.”

And she wouldn’t. She had work to do. She had computers to dry and pinks to order and Chinese phrases to figure out.

And make no mistake, she was aware that she was alone, at night, in the back office of a closed bridal salon with a strange man. Just because she wasn’t getting any weird vibes—the ones caused by his voice didn’t count—didn’t mean all was well. “That’s because I want you to leave, Jimmy’s Cousin.”

“Call me J.C.”

For Jimmy’s Cousin? Oh, please. “How did you get in here, J.C.?”

Holding up his hand, he dangled a key. Both Tuxedo Park and the bridal salon had the same key, so that explained that. However…“How did you get the key?”

“From Jimmy.”

“And does Jimmy know you have his key?”

His smile faded for the first time. Straightening, he said, “Yes.” And held her gaze until something in hers told him she believed him.

Nodding to the computer propped next to the fan, he said, “Good luck with that,” and left.

Just left. Which was exactly what she wanted him to do.

She turned off the fan in time to hear him lock the front door and thought about checking to see if he’d actually gone out before locking it, but didn’t. Instinct told her that she didn’t have to worry about him. Instinct wasn’t much of a reason, but the way he’d held her gaze and seemed offended when she’d implied that he’d stolen Jimmy’s key worked for her.

There was a lot of psychology involved in selling bridal gowns and the most successful sales associates became shrewd judges of character and experts at figuring out subtexts. Lia’s instincts had served her well and she had no reason to think they wouldn’t this time.

Moments later, she heard J.C. in the Tuxedo Park dressing room. And that was that.

Except that wasn’t that. In spite of herself, she strained to hear what he was up to when she should have been concentrating on her computer disaster.



JORDAN CHRISTIAN UNROLLED his sleeping bag on the padded bench in the back fitting room. Going next door to see what Lia looked like had been a bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

Bad, because he liked what he saw. Bad, because she did, too. Bad, because she wasn’t going to admit it. Bad, because he was going to make her admit it.

Yeah, he was. Assistant Manager Lia had issued a challenge with her I’m-all-about-my-work attitude and her you-don’t-do-it-for-me expression. It had been a long time since Jordan had encountered a challenge he felt like accepting.

And Lia of the red cheeks, the slicked-back ponytail and the buttoned-up shirt all the sales associates wore was one heck of a challenge.

Jordan had used his best stuff on her, too. Little songs—women had fainted over his little songs—the smile, the drawl…none of it’d worked.

’Course, she was mad about frying her computer, but Jordan figured his best stuff wouldn’t have worked anyway. Either he was rusty, a very real possibility, or she’d convinced herself that men were a distraction from her career. Maybe both.

He lay back on the sleeping bag and crossed his arms behind his head. When he’d first seen Elizabeth Gray, the owner of the salon, he’d thought she was so tightly wound that when she finally did spring loose, he’d hear the twang wherever he happened to be at the time. As her assistant, Lia was trying to be exactly like her. That was just wrong.

Because he was spending nights here, he’d overheard them talking the past few days, long after the place had closed down and regular folks had gone home to their families. He’d learned that the wedding-dress business was deadly serious, when he figured it would be all smiles and giggles and happiness. That seemed wrong, too.

There had to be a song in there somewhere.

Jordan got his musical inspiration from traveling around the country, working odd jobs and observing people. It kept him grounded and connected to his audience.

He might spend a day or two somewhere, or he might spend a couple of months, depending on whether he was recognized or not. No timetable, except that he was due back in Nashville next week to start his new CD. If he had a relative to visit, as he did here in Rocky Falls, so much the better. Since he was performing on most holidays, he liked connecting with family when he could.

During his travels, he’d slept in barns, his truck, lots of bed-and-breakfasts, campgrounds and more than a few tacky motels, but he’d never before slept in the dressing room of a store. It was now one of his favorites. He could work on his music without bothering Jimmy in his apartment, and until everybody left, he enjoyed listening to the women talk.

Jordan liked women, but contrary to his ladies’-man image, he avoided the groupies and the singing hopefuls who wanted to latch on to him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted, but early in his career, he’d learned that one-night stands left him broody and hollow. Women were too often dazzled by Jordan Christian, the singer, and forgot about Jordan Christian, the man.

To be honest, part of Lia’s appeal was that she not only didn’t recognize him, it wouldn’t matter if she did. She wasn’t the dazzled type. She also wasn’t the type to pull up stakes and follow him back to Nashville thinking he had more time to give to a relationship than he did.

Which made her just about perfect.

Shoot. He wished he had more time here, but he’d have to work with what he had. Music helped him think and he needed to think about what he wanted to do and how he was going to do it. Reaching for his guitar, he propped it on his chest. China. Lia had mentioned China.

Jordan feathered his fingers in a chord and then altered a note that added a vaguely eastern sound. He liked it. As he plinked the strings one at a time, a word faded into his mind. Butterfly.

Butterfly

In a cocoon…

They were all about butterflies here. Girls would come, find their dream dress, and for most of them, it would be the most expensive, elaborate and just plain biggest dress they’d ever wear. And afterward, they’d be changed. They’d emerge beautiful, glowing women. Butterflies.

Jordan turned out the light and softly strummed in the dark.



LIA WAS ON HOLD, racking up international long-distance charges. Even worse, she’d stretched the phone base and receiver as far as she could so she could hear J.C.’s voice.

For international calls, she had to use the salon’s corded phone, or she would have been sitting in the dressing room instead of standing in the hall outside it.

But she could hear. He was only singing bits and pieces as he worked out his song, but that voice of his just wrapped itself around her and wouldn’t let go. She hadn’t thought she liked deep voices, but his had grown on her in what? A couple of hours?

And now that she had come to like his voice, she admitted that the rest of him wasn’t so bad, either.

Lia groaned. She was not going to get hung up on an itinerant musician. She wasn’t. She wasn’t going to think about the one-sided dimple or the large hands or the nose or the confidently amused gleam in his eye. She was not going to be attracted to him. Okay, she was going to be attracted to him, but she was going to ride it out, that’s what she was going to do.

He sang another phrase, a little louder this time. His voice sounded just like dark syrup and she wanted to lick it up, preferably off him.

She whimpered.




4


LIA WAS ONE determined woman. Jordan had listened to her spend the better part of an hour working her way through a frustrating maze of people to reach her contact, only to discover that her contact had been waiting at the main switchboard ever since she’d discovered they’d lost the computer connection.

He did love a determined woman, especially one who was about to bust with frustration.

Generally, he preferred that a woman was about to bust from another kind of frustration, but until then, he enjoyed hearing Lia talk sweet as anything and then cuss like a cartoon sailor when she was on hold.

He’d never heard someone say “Fudge brownies!” with such savagery before. That was his favorite—fudge brownies. It could make a good song title. Most of her silly curses could. He was keeping a list.

“Lily of the valley!”

A new one. That was a goodie. On his laptop, Jordan switched from his music-notation program to the word-processing file and added “lily of the valley” to such expletives as “dreamsicle” and “shantung.” She said “shantung” like two words with the emphasis on the second syllable. If she was really mad, she added “silk” to the phrase, starting quietly and building, “Silk shan-TUNG!”

Damn. He was lying here, writing a new song, and falling in serious like with Lia whateverherlastnamewas.

Serious like.

The last time he’d felt the L word in any form for a woman, it hadn’t gone well. The relationship had degenerated into a tug-of-war over whose career was more important and who was going to have to accommodate whom at any given time. And neither he nor Shanna had been willing to give up what they’d been doing to follow the other one. Shanna had real talent. As did he. So they’d called it quits. Lesson learned.

Lia didn’t have a band of her own and concerts booked two years in advance. Lia—

He was getting way ahead of himself. An hour ago, he’d just wanted her to admit she found him attractive. Rattle her cage a little. Now, he wanted more.

Jordan closed his eyes and listened to her speak with pleasantly firm professionalism. He’d bet she was smiling because she’d read that people could hear smiles in your voice. And that would be the only reason she was smiling, because she sure wasn’t happy.

He could make her happy. Real happy.

And he’d do it by freeing her inner Lia.

He’d start not at her neck, but by unfastening that straight black skirt at the waist. This woman needed to breathe, breathe deeply and feed her muscles with oxygen. Then he’d unbutton a button at her neck—just one—and the buttons at her wrist, because he wanted her to be able to stretch and move.

An image of Lia stretching, catlike, before raising her arms overhead, drifted into his thoughts. He saw her arms slowly rise and her wrists emerge from the long sleeves. The cuffs flapped open. Her fingers flexed. Her wrists rotated. It was like watching a slow-motion video of a growing flower, maturing and opening.

Good Lord Almighty, since when had a woman’s wrists turned him on?

In his mind, she lowered her arms and smiled at him. He saw his own hands touch her shoulders, kneading away kinks and awakening muscles. She exhaled a sigh and tilted her head back. His hand reached forward and unbuttoned another button on her blouse, allowing him to slip his fingers beneath the collar and touch her skin. Warm. Smooth. Soft. As his thumbs massaged the knots beneath her nape, his fingers slipped the bra straps off her shoulders.

Jordan smiled, because in his mind, they were sturdy, utilitarian straps, and then he frowned because they’d left grooves in her shoulders.

Ooooookay. He was fantasizing in way too much detail.

He cleared his throat—and his mind—turned the light back on and concentrated on his song.

Which was about her, naturally.

So. He was attracted. He was interested. He was intrigued. And he was most definitely having carnal thoughts.

“Fudge brownies, fudge brownies, fudge brownies!”

Jordan chuckled to himself. Definitely carnal thoughts. He leaned his head against the fitting-room wall and listened.

“I know. I know. Yes, I told you not to access the network. It’s totally my fault. Zhin! Chill! Your face is fine. And at least we got the pinks. How do they look?”

Silence.

“Yeah, I had doubts about Morning Frost. Go ahead and substitute Morning Blush. I trust you. Well…I’m honored that you’re honored.”

Silence.

“Really? So they like the idea that much? Wow. I’m…Hey, I’ve got an idea. Tell them—no, ask them…well, first tell them it would be an honor, and then ask them if they’d pose for a photo we can hang in our salon. We can call them the Chrysanthemum Wedding team.”

Jordan could actually hear the Chinese girl chattering through Lia’s receiver. Lia must have pulled the phone away from her ear. Jordan couldn’t make out what Zhin was saying and wasn’t sure whether she was speaking in English or Chinese, but she sure was excited.

Lia was speaking again. “I’m glad they’re enthusiastic. I know Ms. Gray will love the idea. Zhin, you’ve got a good capitalist streak going there…. That was a compliment! I wish I’d thought of that idea myself…. Zhin, stop it. You know, I’ll still like you even if we disagree sometimes. Of course I like you! I was just saying that if you ever disagree, don’t be afraid to say so.”

Silence.

“Actually, I didn’t mean right now.”

Jordan laughed, tried to stop it and ended up with a horrible muffled snort. His ear popped.

“Zhin, I’ve got to go.”

Oops. Lia had heard him.

“I’ll let Ms. Gray know what happened and we’ll re-create the orders. I’ll e-mail you when I’m up and running again.”

Should he say something?

He flinched as Lia’s voice sounded right next to his ear. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.” She walked away.

Moments later, he heard the front of the salon door open and close.

He couldn’t help himself. Jordan leaped up and hurried outside to follow her.

He didn’t have to run far.

A furious Lia stood outside the shop, cell phone pressed to her ear. “Do you mind? This call is going to be bad enough without you listen—Elizabeth? Sorry to bother you.” Lia angrily waved him back inside the shop before pressing her finger to her ear.

Jordan shook his head and made a cutting motion over his throat. There was nothing that had happened that couldn’t wait until morning. She didn’t have to go and spoil William’s night out.

He’d seen the way the man had looked at Beth Ann and the expensive suit he’d worn this evening. When a man wore a suit like that on an outing with a woman, he had serious intentions toward that woman. Men noticed the effect. Women noticed the details.

And Jordan noticed the effect details had on women.

“Don’t say anything,” he mouthed at Lia.

After glaring at him, she turned around.



“THERE’S NOTHING MORE to do tonight.”

Lia stared at Elizabeth. The poor woman must be in shock. After Lia had described the disaster, Elizabeth had seemed distracted, remarking that she remembered the orders and proving it by rattling off the brides who’d come in today and their selections and sizes, waving off Lia when she’d scrambled to write them down.

“Do it tomorrow,” she’d said. And then, Elizabeth had looked off into space before clearing her throat and announcing that there was nothing more to do. “Just finish up here and go on home.” And then she left.

Left. As in left the shop without the orders placed, without the orders even recorded. Left. Left Lia with the drowned computer.

Okay. Okay, think. Calm. Think calming thoughts. But things were already calm. There had been no yelling, although Elizabeth didn’t ever yell per se. When she was angry, her words became very distinct and clipped. But Elizabeth had just spoken normally, if somewhat preoccupied.

Lia didn’t know what to do. Either her boss was having a breakdown or…

Or nothing. Her boss was having a breakdown. And Lia had let her walk out in that condition.

She ran out the door in time to watch Elizabeth get into her car. Wait a minute. That was William’s truck. And William wasn’t driving. William wasn’t even in the truck. And Holy Merry Mother of Christmas, Elizabeth peeled out of the parking space with an audible screech of the tires.

Lia stared after her as Elizabeth approached a yellow light and gunned the engine, zooming through the intersection.

“Well, now, that looks promising.” J.C. stood in the Tuxedo Park entrance. He glanced over at her. “How’d it go?”

“Didn’t you hear?”

“Didn’t hear much. Couldn’t see anything.”

She gave him a withering look. “I’m surprised you haven’t drilled a peephole.”

“Y’all would notice.”

Lia turned to go back inside.

“Hey.”

She sighed pointedly, but waited.

“You look like the kind of gal who has a tool kit or knows where one is.”

She hated being called a “gal.” “Yes. Do you need to borrow something?”

“Screwdriver, for starters. I’ve got an idea. Hang on and I’ll be back.”

“Oh, joy.” But he didn’t hear her.

Leaving the door unlocked, Lia returned to the office and began to close up the store. Minutes later, J.C. appeared with a laptop.

“Where did you get that?”

“It’s mine. Thought I’d see if I could help you out.”

“I appreciate the thought, but all my files are on the hard drive.”

JC moved the fan aside and set his laptop next to hers. “Seems like Ms. Gray ought to look into having more than one computer.”

“So noted.”

J.C. sat in the desk chair—the only chair—and smiled up at her.

What an evil, rotten thing to do. The man had long eyelashes tipped in gold, innocent (ha) blue eyes and an indecent mouth.

“Tools?”

Yeah, he had tools. And knew how to use them. “Um, are you, like, a computer geek?”

“Do I look like a computer geek?”

“Are you trying to?”

“Not very hard.”

“Good job.”

His dimple appeared. “I know a little bit about computers.”

“I’m thinking I should wait for someone who knows a lot about computers.”

“And I’m thinking you better get me that screwdriver.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m trying to make amends here. You’ve got a dead computer—what harm can I do?”

Lia knew enough about computers to know that a lot of harm could be done, even on a dead computer. “I’d like to try to recover the data.”

“So would I. You gonna get me that screwdriver?”

She got the tool kit.

J.C. unscrewed his laptop and carefully removed the hard drive. “Do not jounce this. Do not sneeze or otherwise breathe heavily in the vicinity. Do not spill your drink on it.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“No, but you’re excitable.”

“Only when there’s a reason to get excited.”

He gave her a look. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Lia gave him a look right back. “Please don’t.”

J.C. began opening up the salon’s laptop. “Why? Have you already got somebody giving you reasons to get excited?”

“No, and I’m not looking. Believe me, work is exciting enough.”

He shook his head. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“The computer?” She stared into it over his shoulder, expecting to see a blackened mass of fried computer guts.

J.C. set down the screwdriver. “No, you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“‘Work is exciting enough’?” He looked pained. “Selling wedding dresses is so exciting you’ve sworn off men? Do you not see the irony?”

“I could be seriously disillusioned by the fact that forty percent of those happy brides will end up divorced.”

“But you’re not.”

“No,” she admitted.

“So, to be clear, you’re really saying you aren’t attracted to me.”

That was blunt. “Bingo.” Technically, it was more accurate to say that she wasn’t going to act on her attraction. A transient who fancied himself a singer and was sleeping in a dressing room? Yeah, no.

J.C. grinned. “Fair warning—I’m going to change your mind.”

The face…the eyes…the smile…the voice…She was doomed. Doomed. “Don’t bother. Really.”

“It’s no bother. Really.”

Ignoring the little quivers his voice caused, Lia waved at the computer. “Will you please finish with whatever you’re doing?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He lifted her hard drive and set it in his computer.

She saw where he was going. Good idea. Lia hoped it worked. “Have you switched hard drives like that before?”

“Nope.”

She couldn’t watch. But she did. “How do you know about computers?”

“Since I spend a lot of time on the road, I’ve had to learn because there isn’t time to leave my laptop at a repair place.”

“Are you some sort of salesman?” she asked.

He stopped working with the tiny screws as he considered the question. “I suppose I am.”

If he had to sleep in dressing rooms, he must not be a very good salesman, she thought.

After J.C. finished installing the hard drive, he said, “Cross your fingers,” and booted up his computer.

Lia waited, hardly daring to breathe. And there it was—the soul and brains of her computer in J.C.’s body. Computer body—case. Whatever.

He gestured to the keyboard and she opened the connection to Zhin.

“Everything is there!” Lia went dizzy with relief. She immediately chimed Zhin and e-mailed her.

Whoo hoo, came right back and an answering chime sounded as Zhin accessed the network and the orders. Lia stared at the icon indicating Zhin was on the network until it sounded a tone and blinked off.

She leaned over the keyboard and typed, Got everything?

Yes.

Her knees actually went weak. “It worked. You actually made it work,” Lia said to J.C. as she typed her goodbyes to Zhin.

At his silence, she became aware that her breasts were just inches away from his face.

She pretended that she was not aware that her breasts were just inches away from his face and logged off the network.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She straightened. “I’m so relieved and so grateful I could just—”

“Kiss me?”

The words hung in the air. “I was going to say burst.”

“Let’s go with the kiss.”

Before Lia could protest, J.C. hooked his arm around her waist and tugged her into his lap, using a neat maneuver with the chair to buckle her knees.

Scooping her hair away from her nape, he cradled her head with one hand and pulled her against him with the other.

And then he kissed her.




5


FOR ALL ITS seeming spontaneity, it was a crafty, well-thought-out move, probably plotted while her breasts dangled in front of his face.

J.C.’s mouth met hers with confident intent, shifted in a series of erotic pulses—she was going to remember that trick—and settled at the perfect angle.

The. Perfect. Angle.

He was in complete control because she certainly wasn’t doing anything to help things along. Frankly, this guy needed no help, so she might as well enjoy the trip.

Lia consciously relaxed enough to let him know she wasn’t going to lever herself away in outrage, but not enough to signal to him full steam ahead, either. A girl had to have some standards, even if they were negotiable standards.

He rewarded her by taking her lower lip in his mouth and sucking gently as he ran his tongue back and forth against it.

Every nerve in her lip woke up. “Helllllooooo,” they purred.

She relaxed a little more, aware that she had slipped backward enough so that instead of being above him as she had been when he’d first kissed her, they were now on a nose-to-nose level.

Her reward, as she expected, was an awakening of her upper lip.

He lifted his mouth from hers and she felt a smidgen of panic that the kiss was over. Panic, because she might just beg for more and that was never good.

“You taste like cookies and wine,” he murmured. “Sweet with a little sin mixed in.”

Oh, she did like hearing him say that. Her eyes drifted shut as she allowed herself a few sinful thoughts.

Nothing happened for a few beats.

She opened her eyes. “You’re thinking of how you can work that into a song, aren’t you?”

“Tryin’ real hard not to.” His eyes crinkled.

“Try harder.”

His mouth, his very talented mouth, creased in a slow grin as he settled her more firmly against him. “I think harder is the operative word.”

Indeed.

Lia sighed.

He parted her newly sensitized lips with a series of openmouthed kisses that had her melting. Lia was not the melting type. Or so she’d thought. Maybe, just maybe, J.C. was the first man to find her melting point.

She’d never been kissed like this before. Even worse, he made her afraid she’d never be kissed like this again.

As her body continued melting until she resembled a puddle of discarded satin, Lia slid lower in his arms. Sort of, kind of, well, okay, melting against him so she had as much of her body in contact with his as possible. Any woman would. And probably had.

Through slitted eyes, she saw J.C.’s face above hers, his eyes closed, totally in the moment.

Lia always checked out the faces of the boys and men, er, boy-men as they kissed her. It was a habit and she wasn’t ever sure what she was looking for. Mostly, she saw guys pursuing goals, or actually, one goal. She knew they were thinking to themselves, “Chicks like kissing, so I’ve got to put up with it now so they’ll put out later.”

Sometimes, she caught them watching her, gauging whether she was ready for second base. A sure mood killer.

The expression she loathed was the one of painful concentration, as though the guy had memorized some kissing manual and was trying to remember the steps. Swirl clockwise, thrust, parry. Swirl counterclockwise, thrust, parry. Rinse. Repeat. Blech.

But she had never seen the look of a man reveling in the kiss before. J.C. was clearly enjoying himself, but he wasn’t lost in the moment, not completely. He wasn’t lost because he wanted to remain aware of her feelings, specifically whether she was ready to stop or not.

And she knew this because…?

Because Lia Wainright was finally being kissed by a man, just the way she’d wanted to be.

And she liked it. A lot. More than she should, because kissing was about more than technique, even superb technique. She just couldn’t remember what else right now.

What would his face look like if he were totally lost in the moment? She’d never know because then she would have other things to think about besides his expression. Except she wouldn’t be thinking. She’d be feeling.

And she shouldn’t be thinking now. Why couldn’t she lose herself in the moment instead of distracting herself by overanalyzing the kiss? Wondering where it was going instead of just enjoying it all on its own?

Abruptly, Lia placed her hands—which she was sorry to note had only been gripping the chair arms—on either side of J.C.’s head and broke their kiss.

His golden-tipped eyelashes swept upward.

Lia Wainright looked this man right in his blue, blue eyes and smiled.

And then she kissed him.

For the next several minutes, Lia Wainright channeled her inner woman. It should have been effortless. It wasn’t, which said something about her that she’d examine later. Much later. For now, she quickly returned the awaken-the-lips favor and then went exploring, learning his taste, and what made him hum. Especially what made him hum because that’s what sent delicious vibrations over her tongue to bump merrily along the way to those parts of her that appreciated vibrations the most.

Lia knew it was time to break the kiss when she became seriously interested in taking her tongue out of the equation and applying his humming directly to those parts of her.

Not now. But, for the love of fudge-ripple ice cream, within the near future.

So, trying to hide her reluctance, Lia retrieved her hands from where they’d been wandering along his leanly muscled arms. Slowly, she gentled her kisses, pleased when he responded in kind.

They stared at one another and then Lia said, “J.C., it’s time to put your hard drive back into your machine.”



THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Lia stepped next door. She didn’t even have a face-saving pretext. “James?” She confronted J.C.’s sales-associate cousin. “Or do you prefer Jimmy?”

“Oh.” James flushed a deep cherry pink that clashed with the coral shirt, tie and pocket square he wore to prove that men could wear pink.

Lia liked James, but James was not the man to demonstrate any shade of pink whatsoever. But James and pink weren’t the point. His cousin was the point.

James looked ready to bolt.

Lia cut off his escape. “Yes, I have been talking to your cousin. Tell me about him. Hold nothing back.”

Panic flashed in James’s eyes. “Is he bothering you?”

Define bother, Lia felt like saying. “Not yet.”

“Good.” James looked visibly relieved. “He’s visiting for a few days.”

“And?”

“And he’ll be gone soon?”

Lia leveled a look at him. “James, is he sleeping in the back dressing room?”

The panic returned and James went into full defense mode. “He wanted to. I told him he shouldn’t, but he likes the quiet. He says he can’t hear his music when he’s around people all the time.”

Lia thought of the bits and pieces she’d heard through the wall. “Some music shouldn’t be heard.”




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