My palms felt clammy as I remembered the two shows I’d been a part of in the School of Design. I was a dresser, which meant I stood by my model’s assigned rack and waited to help her between changes. I was extremely organized and had laid out my model’s next outfit at just the exact time so she could slip right in. But he was right—it was sheer pandemonium back there, people yelling out sizes and number order and rushing the models to get their butts back in line.
I didn’t know how my mother had done it on a regular basis. It was the one part of the business I was sure I’d absolutely avoid. While my mother had been extremely driven, I was extremely methodical.
I was cool with shopping and pulling clothes for regular shoots or shows, but throwing together this kind of production, where thinking on the fly and timing were everything, was something that made my heart jackhammer too wildly in my chest.
But if I quieted down and listened—and admitted some things to myself—I would find my own truth. That beneath all of that panicky anticipation, it absolutely did feel magical, to embrace the unexpected.
Just like Blake had described theater. Just like he’d shown me by taking me to a couple of performances. Sure, one was a rock-and-roll gig, but it was still live—and completely exhilarating.
And deep down, I wanted to experience that again—that unpredictable, unbridled sensation—all on my own.
“This show would definitely be run on a much smaller scale,” I said. “Only one outfit change.”
“Ah,” he said, looking at me appraisingly. “Still, I’m proud of you for even attempting to take it on.”
I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. “Thanks.”
He cleared his throat. “Let me see if I can round up some stray pieces of lumber.” He walked away, leaving me to catch my breath.
When he reemerged, he said, “I don’t have enough here to make do. I can come back tomorrow night after a trip to the lumberyard. Sound reasonable?”
“Absolutely. And thank you,” I said. His eyes seem to light up when I showed gratitude, which made me feel even more terrible about the kind of person he thought I’d been before.
“Although . . .” I bowed my head, suddenly unsure of myself and this ridiculous new idea. I didn’t want to look him in the eye. “You’ve probably got other responsibilities you need to finally get back to. Like with your family.”
“Not exactly,” he said hesitantly. “Besides, it’s been nice . . . keeping my mind occupied. I like being here.”
I looked up and met his gaze and saw desire blazing in his indigo eyes. And it had been placed there by me, which was so hot. If I only had that one thing to take away at the end of this experience—that I’d turned this amazingly sexy guy on—that would be cool by me.
“Tonight I can help hang those curtains in the front windows, if you want.”
“That would be great.” I smoothed out the silky material that I’d just begun pressing. Thankfully Jaclyn had an extra steam machine in the back. It saved us time and a trip to the other store. “If you can start screwing in the brackets, I can hand you these when you’re ready.”
He carried a stepladder to the front of the store, where all of the windows were covered with thick butcher paper, and got to work. After drilling holes in the wall, and screwing in the brackets, I passed him the rods that were draped with freshly hung curtains.
Now all that was left was fixing them to my liking.
Stepping down the ladder, he said, “I’ll trade places with you.”
He held the ladder steady for me while I climbed halfway up the rungs. I gathered the material in my hands, trying to tie the one end while he watched from below.
“Shoot, this side is stuck,” I said, trying to jiggle it loose from the strut.
“Here, let me help.” He took a couple of steps up the ladder and placed his arms on either side of me to help pull the curtain off the nail. His chest was right up against my back, his lips near my ear, and I couldn’t help it; I let out a throaty sigh.
“Chloe,” he said in a rough voice.
I lowered my head in defeat and I could feel his jagged breaths against my hairline.
“I know the other night was . . . fun,” he said. “But getting you out of my head during the day hasn’t been so easy.”
My skin pebbled from his revelation.
“Truth is—you turn me on so much. It’s hard not to think about . . . touching you again. For whatever that’s worth.”
“Blake.” His lips skimmed across my neckline and I shivered from the contact. “I’ve . . . never been kissed like that before. For whatever that’s worth.”
“Ah hell.” His voice was thick and husky, as if he were struggling with his last measure of control. The area between my legs prickled like it had short-circuited. “Chloe, what are we—”
His sentence was effectively cut off by his phone ringing. He stepped down the ladder in a jerky motion. “It’s my brother. I need to take this.”
After he answered, he listened attentively and then said through clenched teeth, “What about Mom picking you up?”
He listened some more. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way. Tell your coach I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
We made eye contact, his eyes dark and stormy, before he turned and sprinted out the door. I just nodded; there was no need for further explanation. I knew he had other pressing responsibilities, no matter how much he tried ignoring them when he was here with me.
My heart ached for what he was going through. But my body continued responding to what he’d admitted to me on the ladder.
It took the next hour for my skin to stop prickling. And even longer for me to fall asleep that night.
chapter nine
Chloe
“Truth or dare?” Blake asked casually as he sawed wood for the new runway structure. As if the response to that one question hadn’t already placed us in compromising positions.
I took what had become the easier route tonight. “Truth.”
Besides, it looked like there was something he had been working through in his mind. Maybe we finally needed to talk this crazy attraction thing through.
“What you said last night, about never being kissed like that before . . . what did you mean?” he asked. “When was . . . the last time you had a boyfriend?”
“In high school. He raked my name through the mud right after he wore me down to have sex with him.” I sighed. “I was a virgin and we did everything else for months. And then when I finally gave in, he dumped me and spread a bunch of rumors about me being an uptight prude.”
“Damn,” he said. “What a bastard.”
And then his eyes widened as realization seemed to sink in about what he’d said to me weeks earlier about having a stick up my ass. “Oh man, Chloe.”
“It’s okay. Because it’s mostly been true,” I said, admitting to my own faults.
“No. I’m sorry I had the wrong impression,” he said. “And I’m glad we got to know each other and became . . . friends.”
“Me, too,” I said, relief spreading through my chest.
“I know after our time here is done . . . we won’t see very much of each other.” He paused and swallowed. My heart strained painfully. I was desperate to ask him why not, but then I remembered my rule about focusing on college and my career. I was the one who pretended not to be associated with him whenever I saw the women from my mother’s circle, after all.
Besides, if he affected my brain this much only from a kiss, what kind of mess would I be if we tried dating? Not that he was saying he wanted to.
“But if you ever need anything . . . ,” he said, his voice trailing off. “I mean, the way you transformed this space is amazing and I know you have a great career ahead of you.”