Clarisse nodded. “I believe it’s perfect for you. But I suggest you try on half a dozen more just to be sure.”
“Oh, no,” Fiona demurred. “I won’t change my mind, I promise. Are you sure I can pull this off? I’m not really accustomed to attending events like the gala. I don’t want to feel self-conscious.”
“If you’re worried about the pregnancy showing, don’t be. That tiny baby bump won’t be visible at all, even though the dress fits as if it was designed only for you.”
Fiona gaped. “You can tell I’m pregnant?” Her mood plummeted. “Maybe I should look for something looser.”
Clarisse’s expression softened. “I know women’s bodies. It’s my livelihood. But unless someone sees you naked, I assure you your secret is safe.”
Unless someone sees you naked... Fiona gulped inwardly. Not exactly reassuring words given how the evening was likely to end. Hartley in a tux and Fiona dressed to kill? It was going to be their wedding party introduction all over again.
“I’ll take the gown,” Fiona said firmly. If she was going to be Hartley’s plus-one and mingle with his family and friends and business acquaintances, she wanted to look her best.
After paying for her purchase and laying it gently in the back seat of the car, she pulled out her phone and did a search for Mazie’s shop. It was a jewelry store in the historic district. As luck would have it, All That Glitters was less than a quarter of a mile away.
Fiona set out on foot. Parking spaces were at a premium in this part of town; plus, she needed the exercise anyway. Though she was by no means a slug, the fact that she was pregnant meant making healthy choices all the way around. She might be inexperienced when it came to babies and mothering, but she was determined to give this little one every advantage.
When she entered Mazie’s place of business, the premises were pleasantly cool and scented with the aroma of jasmine. Quiet music played unobtrusively. Can lights overhead illuminated cases of rings and necklaces and bracelets. The atmosphere was everything a weary, overheated female tourist could hope for. Consequently, the place was crowded and buzzing with conversation.
Fiona spotted Hartley’s sister right away, but she hung back, not wanting to intrude. When Mazie passed off a happy shopper to the employee at the register who was waiting to ring up and wrap the woman’s purchases, Mazie made a beeline for Fiona.
She beamed. “You found me,” she said.
“This place is gorgeous. I love how you’ve used color and light to showcase your merchandise.”
“Thanks. Coming from an artist, that means a lot.”
Fiona lowered her voice. “How are you feeling? What did J.B. say when he found out you’re pregnant?”
The other woman’s face was radiant. “I feel amazing. And my husband is over the moon. He barely lets me out of the house, though. Being doted on is great, but I’ve tried to tell him I’m fine.”
“Maybe he’ll settle down when he sees how well you’re doing.”
“I hope so. I love the attention—who wouldn’t? Still, I need to breathe.” Her smug smile told Fiona that J.B.’s hovering wasn’t really a problem.
Mazie took her by the arm. “I need to talk to you,” she said. Without waiting for a response from Fiona, she steered her toward the back of the store. “My office is tiny, but no one will disturb us.”
Behind the chintz curtain was a jumble of boxes and a nook barely large enough for an antique rolltop desk and a couple of chairs. Mazie motioned Fiona toward one of them. “Water?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” The temperature was in the nineties. Her throat was dry. She was either nervous or dehydrated or both. “What’s up?” she asked.
Mazie took the other seat and handed Fiona a bottle, then uncapped her own. “I’m worried sick about telling Lisette and Jonathan.”
“And Hartley?”
“Him, too. But Lisette has miscarried twice. I don’t want to upset her with my news.”
“Don’t be silly. You have something to celebrate. Lisette will be happy for you. She probably sees pregnant women every day.”
“Maybe.” Mazie wrinkled her nose. “J.B. and I thought that we’d have all of you over for drinks and hors d’oeuvres before the gala. That way we could tell everyone at once.”
Mazie knew instantly this would be a test for her own pregnancy. If Hartley was delighted for his sister, maybe there was hope for Fiona. “We’ll be there,” she said.
“Excellent.” Mazie hopped up and pulled a small box from the shelf behind her shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to give you one of these,” she said. “Sort of a welcome-to-the-family gift. It’s clear that my brother is nuts about you.”
Fiona wasn’t sure this was the time to say that she and Hartley were temporary. So she smiled weakly and opened the offering. It was a delicate seahorse charm, suspended from a beautiful eighteen-inch box chain. “Oh, Mazie. This is lovely.”
Mazie hovered. “Put it on. It’s white gold. If you’d rather have the more traditional yellow, we can swap it out.”
“Oh, no. This is perfect.” Fiona fingered the little sea creature. “But I think it’s too much. We barely know each other.”
“You bought me pregnancy tests. That advances the timeline exponentially.”
Fiona chuckled. “Maybe so.” She stood and used the small oval mirror on the wall to fasten the chain around her neck. The charm nestled in exactly the right spot. “I love it.”
“It’s the kind of thing you can wear with everyday outfits. And it suits you. Whimsical and unusual.”
“Are you sure that’s a compliment?”
Fiona’s wry question made Mazie laugh. “Of course it is. That’s why my brother is so besotted. No woman he’s ever dated is anything like you. You’re an original.”
“And all those other women?”
Mazie shrugged. “Cookie-cutter debutantes. Rich. Confident. Boring.”
“We should all be so lucky,” Fiona muttered. “I should go,” she said suddenly, feeling weepy for no particular reason except that the life growing inside her was playing havoc with her temperament. “I just wanted to say hello and see where you worked.”
“Well, now you know, so don’t be a stranger.”
When they returned to the main showroom, the crowd had thinned. Fiona wanted badly to share her own secret. But a host of things held her back. This family had a lot of skeletons. For an orphan, it was hard to imagine the kind of blood loyalty that kept a group of siblings together over the long haul.
“Thank you for the invitation,” she said. “I’m sure Hartley will be happy for us to come.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but she didn’t want to add to Mazie’s worry about the big reveal. “What time?”
“Probably five thirty. I’ll text you both when we nail it down.”
“You do realize it’s only forty-eight hours from now?”
Mazie grinned. “Not to worry. I’ll put my feet up and let J.B. make all the arrangements.”
Twelve
Fiona continued to be sick in the mornings. Fitting into the dress she had bought was not a problem. Fortunately, Hartley kept his distance, perhaps hoping his uncustomary reticence would cement her trust.
For two days, it almost seemed as if time stood still. That she had never met Hartley. That her whole life wasn’t about to change.
She took advantage of the momentary lull to paint like mad. The work was a welcome distraction. Anxiety about the weekend made her queasiness worse. She had agreed to spend the night with Hartley after the gala. In a romantic, indulgent boutique hotel. What could possibly go wrong?
At the wedding where they first met, and again when Hartley showed up at her house unannounced, the sex and the budding relationship had been wild and thrilling, carried along on a wave of lust and adrenaline and some insane concoction of pheromones.
&nb
sp; Friday night would be different. She and Hartley were invited to socialize with his family. They were going to appear together in public. Neither of them could expect a spontaneous outcome. When a man and a woman dressed up, shared a fancy social occasion, and then checked into a room, what happened next was a done deal.
Fiona was both terrified and giddy with excitement.
In the end, she decided to leave her hair down. Her curls had a mind of their own, and they barely reached her chin. Taming them would take more energy than she possessed at the moment.
She was not a sophisticated woman. No point in pretending.
Friday afternoon she cleaned up her studio and took a shower. She’d bought new undies and a silky nightgown at the maternity shop. Ordinarily, she was more of a tank top and panties sleeper, but tonight she wanted to be someone different. The kind of woman who coaxed a man into bed and made him never want to leave.
She and Hartley had texted back and forth over the past few days, but only briefly. Was he playing games with her? He’d gone from bludgeoning his way into her life to respecting her boundaries. What did it mean? Why was she so suspicious of his motives?
After packing a small overnight bag, she did her makeup and stepped into the fabulous dress. Only then did she realize her problem. With no Clarisse at hand, Fiona couldn’t zip up the dress on her own.
Damn, damn, damn.
* * *
Hartley was as jumpy as a bullfrog on hot concrete. It felt like weeks, not days, since he had seen Fiona. He was playing the long game, giving her the space she wanted. Had it helped his case?
The only way he managed to survive his self-imposed separation was by working his ass off packing up his house and getting it ready for closing. All he could think about was whether or not Fiona was going to let him move in. Even if she made him sleep on the sofa, it would be a start. He’d made reservations at an extended-stay condo unit, just in case.
He had mixed feelings about showing up at J.B. and Mazie’s house tonight. Lisette and Jonathan would be there, of course. Things were still frosty with his twin. Maybe avoidance was the best policy. Keep the width of the room between him and Jonathan.
Any worry about family squabbles took a back seat when Hartley pulled up in front of Fiona’s now-familiar house. He shut off the engine, mentally calculating how many hours and minutes it would be until he and the lovely red-headed artist were alone together. His body tightened and ached as he imagined undressing her.
He had booked the best room in the swankiest, most exclusive hotel in the city. Pulled out all the stops. Tonight would be a slow, sexy buildup to the main event.
If he lived that long. The way he felt right now, he might go quietly insane.
She knew they were good in bed. Why couldn’t she admit the benefits of a convenient living arrangement?
He wanted her day and night.
Truth be told, his feelings for Fiona were not entirely comfortable, because he didn’t understand them.
When he strode up the path and knocked, no one answered. Seconds passed. He knocked again. “Fiona, it’s me.”
Suddenly, he heard the sound of the dead bolt being turned. The door opened. But no more than six or eight inches. Certainly not enough for a large man to squeeze through.
Two big eyes in a heart-shaped face peered out at him. “You’re early,” she accused.
He frowned. “Barely fifteen minutes. What’s wrong, Fee?”
The part of her he could see turned bright red. Perfect teeth mutilated a plump bottom lip. “We have a situation.”
“Are you sick?” Disappointment flooded his stomach. And then he felt like a jerk for being disappointed.
“I’m not sick.”
“Let me in, darlin’. It’s hot enough to fry meat on the sidewalk.”
“Okay. But wait a minute. And be quick when I let you in.” The door closed all the way. Something—maybe an elbow—hit the wood.
He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he wasn’t going to get any answers out here. “Fiona...”
Before he could form an objection, the door opened a second time. A small, feminine hand grabbed his wrist and dragged him through the narrow opening. “I need help,” she said breathlessly.
When she slammed the door, and he saw her for the first time, he took a blow to the chest. His sweet, usually unadorned Fiona was wearing makeup. She looked unbelievably fantastic. Hot and sultry and gorgeous.
Her eye shadow was smoky gray, a color that made those slate blue irises sparkle. Mascara darkened pale lashes, creating a vision of feminine sexuality. She wore red lipstick, the color of arousal. His mouth dried. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you. But I...”
Then he saw it. She was clutching her dress to her breasts. Ivory satin caressed her body. The gown appeared to be undone.
Lord help him.
Fiona’s gaze was pleading. “The saleslady fastened me at the store. I never thought about the fact that I’d be home alone. You’ll have to zip me up.”
He took a step backward. Lust zinged from his sex to his throat, drying his mouth. “Um...”
“It’s not a corset,” she said. “Just a zipper.” Impatience mixed with embarrassment in her voice.
He couldn’t do it. He absolutely couldn’t do it. All he’d thought about since the last time he stood in this house was how soon he could make love to her again. Now he was hot and horny and frustrated. Dangerously close to the edge. “A neighbor,” he croaked. “I can fetch someone.”
Confusion darkened her gaze. “Mr. Fontaine on the left is eighty-seven and deaf. My other neighbor has three kids, and they’re at soccer practice. What’s the problem? We’re going to be late.”
Well, hell. He could try. He wasn’t a slave to his baser instincts. He was a highly evolved, overly educated, twenty-first century gentleman.
She turned her back to him. “Do it, Hartley. Please.”
Do it? Was she deliberately trying to drive him out of his mind?
His hands shook so hard he had to clench his fists. “Okay,” he muttered. “Don’t rush me. I don’t want to ruin your dress.”
Clearly, Fiona had no idea how she looked from behind. The zipper was a long one. Her soft, pale-skinned back was exposed from the nape of her neck to where her spine took a feminine curve at the top of her ass.
She wasn’t wearing anything else but tiny underwear. And even then he got only a peek of lace. Mostly, the view was all Fiona. Naked Fiona.
Gritting his teeth, he took hold of the zipper and wrestled it upward an inch and a half, no more. Fiona made a noise that sounded remarkably like a moan.
He ignored the sexy provocation and tried again. The fabric was slippery. The dress was clearly meant to be fitted to a woman’s body with little room to spare.
Suddenly, he had to touch her. Had to see if that magnolia-white skin was as soft as it looked. He traced her lower spine with both thumbs. “We could skip the gala tonight,” he muttered, only half kidding.
Fiona shot him a look over her shoulder. “No, we can’t.” Her eyelids were heavy. The words lacked conviction.
He moved the zipper another inch. His self-control was shot. Wanting her was a living, breathing pain. How was he supposed to resist? He kissed the top of her spine. “Tell me to stop, Fee.” His entire body was tense. Braced. As if being stretched on a rack. His sex throbbed beneath the confines of his tux pants.
“Stop what?”
It was a dangerous question, because in her voice he heard the truth. She knew exactly what he was asking.
“Fee...” He pleaded with her.
She dropped her head back against his chest, her curls brushing his chin. “I missed you,” she muttered.
He snapped. Completely. His need for her sent him reeling off a cliff. Without conscious thought, he lifted her bod
ily, freed her from the puddle of satin and kicked it aside.
Spinning her to face him, he ground out the only words he could think of in his delirium. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
She curled her arms around his neck, her eyes soft with arousal. “I’m going to let you do all the talking,” she whispered.
The madness rolled over him like a tide. He shoved her against the door, feasting on one perfect spot at the curve of her neck—careful, though, not to mark her skin. He freed his erection, fumbled with protection and fingered her sex through her panties. She was wet and warm and welcoming.
There was no time to remove her underwear. He tugged at the elastic between her legs and gave himself enough room to maneuver. Then he lifted her and shoved hard, lodging himself all the way to the hilt. Her butt smashed against the door.
Hell and damn. His body was on fire, burning from the inside out. When he moved in her, Fiona whimpered as if afraid he was going to leave her. Not bloody likely. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. The weight of his many failings threatened to drown him. She was an angel, and he was nothing but a man enslaved by his need for her body, her soul.
Fee leaned into him and nipped his earlobe with sharp teeth. “I’m not sorry,” she said.
Things blurred a bit after that. He remembered hammering into her again and again, muttering words of desperation. Fee’s legs tightened around his waist. “Don’t stop,” she begged.
Half a second later, her sex contracted around his, the sensation exquisite and inescapable. He groaned her name and came with her, burying his hot face in her neck.
When it was over, he set her gently on her feet and kissed her forehead. He was weak, embarrassingly so. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Fiona, ever practical, touched his cheek, patting him as if he were a child to be comforted. “I’ll use the bathroom in my studio. You can take the one in the hallway.”
When she bent over to pick up her dress, he nearly lunged for her again. Instead, he clenched his fists and tried to breathe through the pain. He was falling in love with her. The knowledge crushed him. Fiona was the kind of woman who wanted marriage and a family.
Bombshell For The Black Sheep (Southern Secrets Book 3) Page 11