Dressed to Thrill

by Bella Frances

  Summed up the craziness of what he was about to walk into.

  Wedding of the Season: Angelica Cruz and Sebastian Frietze. In less than twenty-four hours the legendary Catalonian beauty and heiress will marry her long-time sweetheart Seb Frietze.

  You’ve all been waiting to see why a goddess like Angelica would choose to ask a demonia-devotee such as myself to design the dress for her very, very special day, and all I can say is…wait and see! I’m not gonna lie and say that she’s going to shimmy her way down the aisle in rubber or latex, and the wedding favours are not going to be handcuffs, but she’s pushed some very important boundaries, girls!

  And as for her bridesmaid, Fernanda? Let’s say you’d better clear your diaries for the whole of next week as you check out the online frenzy that’s going to follow this teenage idol. Oh, and finally, there’s no truth in the rumour that the men will be wearing gimp masks.

  She was a little witch. He had no doubt that that was a prod at him rather than Sebastian. A dig at his ‘ultra-conservative’ image that she had taken great delight in ripping him for. He smiled. Flicked the photo on the screen larger. Seeing her winking by-line photo grin up at him, he smiled even more broadly. How he loved that face. He loved the mocking intelligence in her eyes. He loved her quirky teeth and the way her face tilted so happily with her smile. He loved those lips, those kisses. Man, how he missed her kisses. Missed her. Ached for her. Loved her.

  When had he known? He’d asked himself that over and over. So many flashbacks of so many treasured moments. But it had been when she was least ‘Tara’—when she had been stripped of everything she thought made her who she was—no super-styled hair, no make-up, no crazy clothes. When she had been in his kitchen dressed in that huge white robe. Just a person. The most adorable person in the world.

  Well, Ms Devine—I’ll be seeing you soon enough, he thought. And he knew he had everything riding on getting this just right. He’d stayed out of the way while she was scooping up the rewards of Fashion Week. He’d given her all the space she needed to forge more success with her business. And he’d stayed well away from all the talk about her carefully orchestrated by Angelica.

  He’d even withstood the temptation to catch her at the house before she made last-minute adjustments to the dresses, but in less than two hours he was going to be face to face with her. And he was determined. This would be nailed. Finally.

  * * *

  Tara’s fingers were sausages. Her head was soup—and not consommé. Angelica stood before her, Fernanda and her phone sat at the side of her—and if she was on social media she was going to be toast.

  She knew that this was the design of her life. And she couldn’t have dreamed up a better model to showcase it. Angelica’s classical beauty was the perfect foil for the slightly outré but totally feminine dress that she had designed. On anyone else it would be too corseted, too burlesque, too much. On Tara herself it would look like she was auditioning for the lead as Bride of Frankenstein, but on Angelica it looked truly divine.

  She should be content. Excited, but content. It was the culmination of weeks of collaboration and fittings. But it was excitement at seeing the other Cruz sibling that was eating her alive. She couldn’t believe Michael had walked out of her life like that. She’d been so sure that he’d come over all caveman and drag her off later that night, or at least in the days that followed. She’d begun to prime herself to accept that that was just his way, and that she should swallow her horror and maybe come to terms with it.

  But he hadn’t come back. Hadn’t called, texted or in any way made contact. Had left her with a massive gap that came from the immense physical and emotional contact that had been withdrawn, turned off, extinguished. And she had hurt. So badly. Not even the amount of business her sales agent had managed to generate with stores all round Europe had completely erased the bleakness she felt. Just putting one foot in front of the other and breathing had become harder than she’d ever have thought possible.

  Still, she had taken the time to really work herself out. And that hadn’t been pretty. At all…

  The make-up artist and hairdressers were finishing off. She had declined to let them near herself—she’d already lived through one of those disasters, when Angelica’s hairdresser had thought he understood her look and she’d had to pull the whole lot out and fix it herself later. No, the last thing she could afford to look today was anything other than lovely.

  Her own dress was also new. Showcasing a new mood, a new muse. A new understanding of her own femininity and personality. And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t designed it knowing Michael’s eyes were going to fall on it.

  In approximately two hours.

  * * *

  Sebastian’s anxiety was viral. Michael had contracted a severe case of pacing and hand-wringing himself now. And even standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting for Angelica to descend with her one bridesmaid and her one dress designer, he could only be grateful that he was hidden from the sight of the two hundred or so of Angelica’s ‘close’ friends—aka projects—who had gathered in their garden to watch this wedding.

  And of course she was going to be late—more hand-wringing—and it would be hours before he got a chance to speak to Tara alone. To see where they were going. And to make sure it was together.

  He heard a noise from upstairs. Felt tension and excitement waft down to him like heavy perfume. Top notes of high-pitched voices and hints of hysteria. He began to feel—actually, was it flu coming on? This was so, so not like him.

  And there they were. His sister looked stunning. Truly he’d never seen Angelica look so beautiful. And even Fernanda was more breathtaking than usual. But it was the small strawberry blonde behind them that his eyes searched for. And as his sisters moved downstairs and Tara finally came into view it was her blue eyes that found his. And the world felt better

  With every step that she took he locked her with his eyes. He told her he loved her. He’d missed her. He told her she was not going to get away from him again without a fight. He never let his gaze falter for a second until he had to stretch out his arms to his sister. And then he looked at Angelica with pride. Because this was her day. And he was her brother. And he would do everything he could to make sure she got the best start to her married life.

  Angelica beamed. A tear was in her eye. She stood at the foot of the stairs and let Tara reassemble her train. She looked voluptuous, like a goddess, a screen siren—he’d never seen her that way.

  And as Tara stood, finally content with the way each layer of dove-white satin and antique lace was lying, Angelica, ambassadorial as ever, took their hands. ‘I’m so, so happy you’re both here for this day.’

  Tara looked at him. Strong, but fragile—sure, yet open. Her perfect porcelain skin was lush with health and he wanted her more than life itself. She nodded the truth of her heart into his eyes and he braced himself to do this duty for Angelica. They would have their time to sort out the words that needed to be said soon enough.

  * * *

  Tara was basking in the comments from the guests. She was basking in Angelica’s joy and Fernanda’s happiness. And she was absolutely luxuriating in the attention she was getting from Michael. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her all day—since she’d seen him at the foot of the stairs, looking as if he’d been cast from the most enchanted spell. He was more than handsome, more powerful, stronger, more solid, cleverer, kinder than anyone she had ever known.
And she knew that just by breathing the same air as him.

  He walked towards her now and she knew that their moment was coming.

  ‘Tara.’

  She put down her champagne flute carefully, untouched, not even a lipstick stain on it.

  ‘I’ve missed you.’

  He stepped up close and placed first one slow kiss, then another on each of her cheeks. He circled her waist with his hand and he made her feel simply cherished.

  ‘I’ve missed you too.’

  She allowed herself to be led to a corner. There were guests milling all over the house. A buffet was on offer and the joy of the day was still in its infancy. Her duties were done but his were stretching out ahead. This moment was going to be short, but she would know how his heart lay.

  ‘You look…simply beautiful.’

  She sat down beside him, still not taking her eyes off him. His skin was paler without its summer tan, but his lips were dark as red wine and his eyes were a warm, rich brown. She scanned his face and saw fine laughter lines, involuntarily trailed her fingers there.

  ‘It’s so…so good to see you, Michael.’

  He took her hand from his face, held it to his mouth, turned it round and kissed her open palm. All the hot, physical love she had missed rose and bubbled immediately, shocking her with its intensity. And he read that and smiled at the gasp she had released.

  ‘It’s been too long, querida. But we both needed the space.’

  ‘Did we?’

  It didn’t feel like that to her. It had felt like she was incomplete. Especially since she had waited and waited for him to contact her. And that just hadn’t happened.

  ‘I was sure you were going to get in touch. In fact I was sure you were going to haul me off to your cave.’

  She laughed and he smiled, turning her hand over in his, enclosing her fingers, trailing his thumb across the veins of her wrist.

  ‘It’s not that I didn’t think about it. Maybe daily—maybe every hour on the hour.’

  He smiled into her eyes and she had to know—had to wonder if their intoxicating kisses were going to be as good as in her dreams. She bent forward into his space, closed her eyes and felt the firm seal of his lips. She moulded her mouth and slipped her tongue to taste him. It was better than good. It was hot. It was perfect. She pushed her chest forward and reached out to touch him. Felt the firm ridge of his biceps where her hands landed lightly on his arms.

  ‘I wish you had. How I wish you had.’

  She felt him cup her face, holding her just out of reach as he looked at her. He’d done this before and then she’d taken it as a sign that he was withdrawing. This time she knew that he was only savouring, reading her, learning,

  ‘Tara, if I had done that you might have come, but you would have resented me for it.’

  ‘It would have put me out of my misery.’

  ‘I know—and it would have ended mine. But you’re not a trophy, and I’m not looking for that in my woman. I need someone strong, independent. I need a match, Tara, not a princess.’

  Really? She smiled. Then that was a total turnaround. It sounded like the right words, but she couldn’t see the Michael Cruz she knew really meaning them.

  ‘Michael. You’re the most dominant man I’ve ever known—just think back to the very first time we met. At the after-party. Fernanda was hiding from you and Angelica was using me as a decoy. And you seduced me—swept me off my feet so much that I was happy to jump into bed with you. That’s not the behaviour of an equal rights activist in touch with his feminine side.’

  He chuckled briefly. ‘Well, let’s not labour the “in touch with my feminine side” part too much—let’s call that an objective rather than an actuality. But you’re right. OK. In some ways, yes, you’re right.’

  Well, this was progress. She’d never expected to hear those sentiments coming out of his mouth.

  ‘But you’ve also got to remember that I was, and still am, responsible for a girl who has diva potential in every pore of her being. If I hadn’t taken a hard line with Fernanda who knows what kind of nonsense she’d be up to? It’s hard enough, Tara. But she takes a lot of work—as you know.’

  ‘Like her big brother.’

  He leaned in for a gorgeous, long, sensual kiss and she melted right there.

  ‘I’m a pussycat where you’re concerned.’

  ‘Now you’re just being ridiculous. And you know that I no more want a pussycat than you want a hardass bitch.’

  ‘Sounds like we might be learning to compromise, then.’

  He kissed her again. Melted what was left. Someone approached them—Sebastian.

  ‘Michael, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Angelica is asking for you?’

  For a moment he looked as if he wasn’t going to move, or he hadn’t heard. Then his face softened. ‘I’ll be right there.’ He ran his hands up and down her arms. ‘I have to finish this for Angelica and Seb. But I want us to have time to talk. Properly talk. Without our lust for each other getting in the way. I mean that, Tara. I think it’s really important for us to clear up the stuff that’s plagued us up until now. Hmm?’

  She nodded. Really, the last thing she wanted to do was talk if there was even half a chance of getting naked any time soon. She’d never thought she had a high sex drive before, but sitting here without ripping his clothes off was a real test of character.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you’re ready. We’ve got a lovely day ahead with Angel and Seb, and I’m just so glad to be here to share it with them.’

  ‘Good, baby. That’s good. We’ll have plenty of time later.’ He gave her another drugging kiss and then stood up.

  She watched him walk away, so tall, so erect, so in control of the whole room, of his whole world.

  She felt the back of her hair. A couple of pins had fallen out of her loose French roll. Why was she such a slave to fashion? If Mario and the guys she used for her shows had said tight French rolls were in she would have backcombed, pinned and sprayed like a fiend. And then she wouldn’t have had to worry about her hair all day. Loose French rolls? One of fashion’s more stupid ideas.

  She stood up and went upstairs to her room. She could check her messages, maybe even have a glass of iced tea and change her shoes. The day couldn’t be going any better.

  She closed the door of the guest bedroom and headed to the dressing table. Started to undo the remaining couple of pins from her hair and kicked off her heels. They were beautiful. They were a quid pro quo promotion by a colleague she was in partnership with, and they’d served their purpose, but no way was she going to last the day in them.

  Her phone sounded. She glanced at it. She would get it in a minute.

  She moved to the mirror, looked at herself. Although he hadn’t commented, Michael couldn’t have failed to notice the change in her. Everyone else had. She was still Tara Devine, but she was just a bit less full-on, a bit softer. Her designs this season were still super-flattering for curves, and still oozed sex appeal, but she liked to think she’d found dignity and an air of mystery…even if it was just an inch lower on the hem and higher on the cleavage. It was something to keep the critics in column inches anyway.

  Her phone sounded again. She picked it up. The screen was covered in messages. She held it in her hand and looked at them all. There was no ignoring it this time. Missed calls. Texts. And she knew without even opening them up what they were about.

  She sank onto the bed. Th
e last contact had been to tell her that he was ill and ask if she wanted to come home. Were they out of their minds? she had said. Another couple of attempts had been made.

  Maybe it was the way she had been feeling about Michael, although she doubted it, but she had almost, almost spoken about it. Had wondered if it was time and had actually looked up a therapist’s phone number. Maybe she should now. Maybe she would. There was no doubt it was all going to come to the surface now. No doubt that something serious had happened. And no doubt she would have to deal with it…

  It was only when the door opened that she realised how long she had been sitting there. It was Michael. He walked to her. There was no need to discuss anything. He just knew. Just his being in the room consoled her. And she felt another part of the dark shadow within her fade and die.

  ‘Tara? What’s wrong?’

  He scooped her into his arms and she sat there numbly. Just being held. Words were in her heart somewhere, but she couldn’t feel them or properly form them yet. He soothed her and held her close. Maybe it was the beat of his heart—slow, steady, reassuring. Maybe it was how far she’d come already herself on her journey. But she knew that she was going to get past this.

  She swallowed. Tried to sit up. ‘Just some news from home.’

  He looked at her closely. She felt such a wave of love from him. Returned it. She didn’t even need to say the words—she just knew how he treasured her. There were so many more important things for them to fix than any old skeletons in her closet. They needed to talk about practical things—like how he was going to cope with her moods when she had one of her catastrophising fits when stylists totally misinterpreted her fifties fetish in a Thunderbird vision in her latest ad campaign, or when make-up artists put far too much smudge into her ‘slept in my mascara’ catwalk look. What was wrong with people that they didn’t get that? These were the kinds of things that could really bring her down.