The Night Before Christian

by Avery, Joy

  Sometimes…love is the only thing that can free you!

  When Emory Chambers asked Santa for someone to warm her cold nights, she hadn’t expected him to actually deliver. But he does. The only problem… He delivers the wrong man. Her ex is the last person she expects to see stroll into her floral design shop. The second their eyes meet old feelings rush back, and their connection sparks as potent as ever. But she has to ignore the fact that she still loves him. Especially since he’s engaged to be married.

  Christian St. Claire is a man lost. That’s until a floral consultation for his upcoming wedding brings him face-to-face with Emory—the only woman he’s ever truly loved. He refuses to allow himself to fall under her spell again. But despite how hard he’s trying, he can’t shake his feelings for the woman who shattered him. Reconnecting with Emory forces him to question himself. Can he vow his life to another when his heart still pounds for the one who got away?

  THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTIAN

  JOY AVERY

  THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTIAN

  Copyright© 2015 by Joy Avery

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except for brief quotes used for the purpose of review or promotion. Any trademarks, service marks, or product names are the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference.

  THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTIAN is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  First eBook Edition: December 2015

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks—first and foremost—to God for blessing me with this gift of storytelling.

  My endless gratitude to my husband and daughter for your unwavering support and patience. I love you both very much!

  A huge thank you to my awesome critique partner, Lyla Dune.

  To my friends and family who’ve offered tons and tons of encouragement and support, I express my greatest gratitude. Your support means the world to me.

  To Angelia Vernon Menchan, THANK YOU!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Also by Joy Avery

  Dear Reader

  WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME:

  Chapter 1

  Clearly, the universe couldn’t have cared less about Emory Chambers’ aversion to being late. Evident by the fact there’d apparently been a power outage in her neighborhood, which reset her alarm. Batteries that should have prevented this from happening were so outdated they’d started to corrode. Then there was the little old lady she’d gotten stuck behind, who’d obviously believed if she drove faster than twenty miles per hour in a forty-five mile per hour zone, she’d be whisked into the future. And as if all of that hadn’t been enough, every single traffic light on her route turned red the second she’d approached.

  Now that she thought about it, the universe obviously had it out for her. Why? She had no idea. But if her morning foreshadowed how her day would go, she was in deep trouble. Maybe she should just turn around now, return home, and climb right back into her cold, lonely, empty bed.

  Yeah, right. As if she had the luxury of turning down a new client. God, she was so tired of being a slave to the almighty dollar. Where was her tall, dark, handsome, filthy rich knight in shining armor sent to whisk her away from the life of a working woman? Actually, filthy rich wasn’t a prerequisite, but it sure couldn’t hurt.

  “Dear Santa, how about sending Mr. Perfect-For-Me through my shop door today. I’ll owe you big time. Plus, I’ve been a very good girl this year.” She cringed. Well, if you didn’t count the time she slammed the door in the face of the pigtail wearing Girl Scout cookie peddler. That had been justified. The child had tried to entice her with Lemonades. Who could resist Lemonades?

  Hopefully, the fact Emory had chased pigtails down and purchased six boxes of the addictive cookies redeemed her. She doubted Santa even answered thirty-four-year-olds, anyway. But just in case… It couldn’t hurt to put it out there.

  The sound of the car horn blaring behind her snatched Emory back to reality. Pulling away from the green light, she ogled her favorite coffee spot, Pour Play Coffee Bar. A huge mug of coffee was just what she needed. Scratch that. She needed a five-gallon bucket filled to the brim. Strong and black. She was about to tell Santa it was exactly how she wanted her man, but it was Santa, which meant he already knew that.

  Ugh. She pressed the pedal down a little harder. Stopping would only put her further behind schedule. When her Honda Accord backfired, spitting out a cloud of black smoke, she was sure she’d have to hoof it the remainder of the way. Did everything in her life have to go wrong all at once?

  At least there was one good thing about her crappy day, all of the Christmas decorations throughout downtown Raleigh. Just the sight of wreaths hung from street lamps, garland and lights arranged in store fronts, and the continuous Christmas music on the radio thrilled her. Christmas had always been her favorite time of the year, but she was having trouble getting into the holiday spirit.

  Finally arriving at her flower shop, The Bloom Bloom Room, on luck and a prayer, she parked the heap, bolted from the vehicle, and stumbled through the backdoor. When her purse hit the floor, the stack of overdue bills spilled out. The last thing she needed was a reminder that she was sinking in debt. And going down fast. Refusing to linger on the idea, she collected them and stuffed them back inside.

  Lucas, her trusty assistant, exited from the small office to her right. He ran his long fingers through his dusty blonde hair. “Crikey! It sounded like a mob of roo were bursting through the door. Are you okay?” he asked, his Australian accent as thick as if he’d stepped off the plane from Sydney just yesterday.

  “Rough, rough morning. But, hey, it’s almost Christmas. This day has to get better, right?”

  In true Lucas fashion, he lifted a cream colored carnation off one of the work tables, snipped it, and placed it behind her ear. “She’ll be right.”

  Emory understood the phrase was Australian for it will be okay. Call her a pessimist, because she wasn’t sure it would be. But at least one of them held out hope. “Thank you for calling me this morning. If you hadn’t, I’d probably still be asleep.”

  “You needed the rest.”

  She agreed one hundred and ten percent. Ever since her quaint North Carolina shop was featured in Floral Trendsetters Magazine, business had been booming. Or blooming as Lucas liked to say. God, she would miss him when he left for a month-long trip to Australia in a few days.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how annoyed is Ms. Manchester?” The hopefully tolerant bride who’d been waiting close to a half-hour for her.

  “You’re the most sought after florist in Raleigh. She can wait.” He winked. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

  Emory laughed at Lucas’ terminology. “You are the absolute best, Lucas. If you weren’t already married, I’d propose.”

  Lucas pressed a finger into his chin and eyed the ceiling. “Let me think about this. That’s a tempting offer.”

  Emory laughed because she knew it would take a force far more powerful than any woman possessed to snag Lucas from his wife. She’d never witnessed a couple more in love. She’d never known a man wh
o cherished a woman like Lucas cherished his. Actually… she had. Once.

  Shaking away the memory of her ex, Emory moved through the door and entered the large room she used for consultations. Pasting on a two dollar smile, she said, “Ms. Manchester?”

  The woman stood, extending her arm. “Please, call me Yasmin. And thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice.”

  Yasmin was dressed in a winter white pantsuit, makeup flawless, and not a hair out of place in the tight bun she sported. This made Emory wish she’d put a little more effort into her own appearance. But she’d worn the possibly-too-snug tee and jeans for comfort, not fashion. “It’s not a problem at all. I apologize for being late. It’s been an insane morning.”

  “Trust me, I understand.”

  Yasmin smiled, revealing the most perfect set of teeth Emory had ever seen. So perfect, in fact, she questioned to herself whether or not they were even real.

  Yasmin gracefully took a seat. “My fiancé will be joining us any moment.”

  “Wonderful.” In her experience, not many men chose to be involved in the selection of the wedding flowers. It would actually be refreshing having the groom present to get his input. “My assistant will show him in when he arrives. Would you like to wait for him before we get started?”

  Yasmin checked her watch, a Rolex studded with diamonds. “No. He’s just here for moral support. He knows I’ll have the final say.”

  That was typically how it went. The bride dragged the groom along under the pretense that he would have a say-so in the details. And on the off chance he’d gotten to make a decision, by the end of the consultation, the bride would have already overridden him. Unless, of course, it was exactly what she’d wanted from the beginning. A well-informed groom knew to smile, nod, and supply the occasional yes.

  Emory removed her checklist and asked Yasmin a multitude of questions, in an attempt to get an idea of what she had in mind for her special day. Did she want traditional Christmas themed or something out of the box? Simple and elegant or over the top lavish?

  Yasmin flashed a palm. “I really haven’t put much thought into any of this. We were just engaged three months ago.” She flashed a ring that should have come with protective eyewear.

  “Wow! That’s some ring.” The center stone alone had to be at least five-carats. The baguettes only added to the gaudy piece.

  “My mother suggested I hire a wedding planner. I think I will be taking her advice. Especially since I have to fly out of the country today for a three-week-long modeling gig. I haven’t even put a dent in my to-do list. Silly me. I’d convinced myself I could handle it all by myself.”

  It made sense that she was a model: tall, thin, and a picture of perfection—by society’s standards—but flying out of the country for three weeks with an impending wedding… That was just plain ridiculous. “Yeah, you’re going to need a planner. I can give you a referral.”

  Newly engaged. A rushed wedding. Emory’s first thought was that the woman was pregnant and wanted to tie the knot before she started to show. Well, if nothing else, the flowers would be breathtaking.

  “Oh, a referral would be great. My fiancé and I recently moved to North Carolina. He’s originally from here, but I’m not. I know absolutely no one here. So, I’m looking for all the help I can get. I would have preferred a destination wedding. Hawaii, maybe. But our families…”

  She smiled, but Emory noted it lacked a lot of the glow she typically witnessed in her brides.

  “Is it odd that I’m not over the top elated about my wedding? I mean… I’m getting married in a few weeks. Shouldn’t I be over the top?”

  “You will be. Right now, you’re just overwhelmed. Once everything comes together, you’ll be ecstatic.”

  Emory had witnessed brides with cold feet before, but this was something more. This was uncertainty. Did Yasmin harbor second thoughts about getting married?

  “It’s just that…” She shook off whatever thought she’d been crafting in her head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Yasmin flailed her hands. “Anyway. Help. Please. Just make it gorgeous.”

  “That, I can definitely do.” Emory loved when she got free reign to do whatever she liked. Within budget, of course. And speaking of budget… “Is there a specific—?”

  When three light taps sounded behind them, Emory tossed a glance over her shoulder. Lucas stood at the door.

  “The groom is here,” he said, stepping aside. “And I’m going to run out for a bit. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Emory nodded, but froze a second later. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? She blinked a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

  “I apologize for my tardiness. I’ve had the worst day known—”

  Obviously, familiarity set in, because Yasmin’s fiancé stopped mid-thought. The room went still. Or least it did for Emory. Her mouth went dry and her heart rapped in her chest with such force she thought it would stop from overload. When she’d asked Santa to send a man through her door, she hadn’t meant this one. Old Saint Nick obviously had a sense of humor.

  “—to man,” he continued.

  Clearly, he was as stunned by her presence as she was of his. Yasmin rounded the table to greet him with a hug and peck on the lips.

  “Honey, this is floral designer extraordinaire, Emory Chambers. Emory, this is my fiancé…

  Christian St.Clair, Emory said along with Yasmin, but only in her head.

  Yasmin’s cell phone chimed. “Excuse me a moment.”

  Yasmin stepped away, leaving the two of them in an awkward space together. The air grew so thick, Emory found it difficult to pull in a breath. Or it could have been the fact that she was too stunned to process the command.

  Emory had imagined what she’d do if she ever saw her ex again. Paralysis hadn’t been one of the scenarios crafted in her head. On the sporadic occasions her thoughts drifted to him over the years, she’d visualized him a hundred pounds heavier, a receding hairline, a potbelly, and missing teeth. That was so not the man standing in front of her now.

  Even beneath the black wool trench coat, she could see that his body was still as solid as it’d been the last time they’d been in the same room together. Approximately two years ago, she noted. Suddenly, the snug shirt she wore became uncomfortably warm.

  The frown stretched across his face suggested he was far from happy to see her. Understandable. He’d probably spent the past two years hating her. Understandable, as well.

  Steadying her frayed nerves, Emory stood, extended her hand, and said, “Nice to meet you, Christian,” before he did something ridiculous like reveal to his wife-to-be that they’d know one another once. Actually, they’d more than known one another; they’d planned a life together. One that she’d shredded.

  When Christian hesitantly gripped her hand, she hoped he hadn’t noticed the tremble in it. It’d been so long since they’d touched, but his hold on her—warm and firm—was familiar. Too familiar. Locked onto his gaze, her stomach fluttered. Those eyes—deep, dark, commanding—teased her now just as they’d done in the past. It was a damn good thing Yasmin was preoccupied with her cell phone, because if she’d witnessed their exchange, there’d be some ’plaining to do.

  Emory reclaimed her hand, Christian’s heat still present in her palm. “Shall we continue?” she said, snatching her focus away from him.

  Christian eased into the chair directly across from her, his seething gaze threatening to send them all up in a raging ball of fire. It wasn’t difficult to ascertain he wasn’t overly thrilled to be there, but that was okay because she wasn’t too keen on him being there either.

  Though she’d avoided eye contact with him, his mere presence threw her off her usually flawless game. Words that usually flowed, she stumbled over. Phrases that normally came second nature, she forgot. And the sweating. She perspired like she’d been perched on a bed of burning coals.

  Getting through the remainder of the consultation proved one of
the toughest challenges Emory had ever faced. Luckily, Christian hadn’t added a great deal to the conversation, which limited their need to address one another. But every time she dared a glance in his direction, his eyes were steadied on her—hard and cold.

  Never in her life had she been so happy to see a couple leave as she’d been when Christian and Yasmin departed. The entire encounter had drained her. She rested her head on the chilly conference room table and closed her eyes. How was it possible that Christian could still rattle her system this way?

  He sure wore thirty-seven well. Why did he have to look so damn delicious? And the way he wore that custom-tailored suit. It should have been a crime against humanity. No one should look that damn delectable in fabric. Plus, those muscles. How was it possible for his body to have improved? It’d been pristine when they were together. It was downright lethal now. Muscle on top of muscle, powerful legs, a tight ass, and—

  She groaned. Was she insane? This man was about to become someone else’s husband. But could she actually watch it happen? Maybe passing on this event would be a smart thing to do.

  Instantly, the six thousand dollar bill from her mother’s homecare agency played in her head, reminding her of why she didn’t have the option of passing up any business.

  The sound of the conference room door opening, then slamming behind her drew her urgent attention. When she glanced up, Christian hovered over her like a sexy, simmering god. A vein bulged on the side of his neck, and she added vengeful to the list.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

  Something told her this would not be a pleasant encounter. Maybe it was his darkened eyes. Or his flared nostrils. Or the proverbial smoke wafting from his ears. Play it cool, Emory. Don’t let him see you sweat—well, sweat anymore. And whatever you do, keep your emotions in check. “Christian—?” That was all he gave her time to release.