“It looks good on you, if that helps.” Lane stepped forward and touched the material. “And I know you want everything to be completely different, but it’s just not going to work. There’s no point in being different just for the sake of it.”
“What do you mean by that?” Her eyes had narrowed, but he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth at the sight of her. Her enthusiasm was almost infectious. If he didn’t know how important sensible and conservative decisions were in business, he’d say yes just to see the excitement that was sure to beam across her face.
He took the gray fabric from her middle, put it on a display table, then tipped her chin up. “I know you’re on this mission to break rules and push boundaries, but there are other places you can do it besides your parents’ business.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Her shoulders sagged. “See, even though you drive me crazy with your belief that there’s only one way to do everything, I’d never have thought of noses being wiped on a curtain.”
“I might know about the hospitality industry, but I’m sure there are just as many rules of engagement when you’re studying mushrooms.”
“I guess,” she said. “But that won’t help our project.”
“You know, I had a question about that, about that little toadstool.” Actually, he’d been thinking too much about her sitting in the woods surrounded by cute little toadstools, like something out of a fairy tale. “Why is it called the amethyst deceptor?”
“It’s the amethyst deceiver, and it’s called that because at first it starts out with a beautiful purple color that makes it really easy to distinguish, but then over time it fades to look like any other fungus, so you have to know what you’re looking for.”
“It sounds complex.” And unexpectedly intriguing. Just as she was.
She sighed. “Not as complex as choosing fabric.”
He laughed and lifted the material that was now sitting like a veil across her hair. “I hate to tell you what my dry cleaning bills have been for curtains in my restaurants, and that doesn’t factor in the ones that get pulled down when people get over-vigorous with their celebrating.”
She looked up at him and her eyes danced. How could it be fair that someone who was so smart and beautiful and determined was so off-limits? Or that he’d never have the focus to invest in someone like her? He tucked the fabric back into the roll and she smoothed down her dress.
“What about gold?” he said, wanting to make up for her disappointment. “That would hide some finger marks but might give you the look you want.”
“Maybe.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and peered around the end of the bolt tower. “Do you think we should call Marilyn back? She kinda makes me feel like a bull in a china shop.”
He joined her at the end of the row and they carefully looked around again together. “No, let’s do it ourselves.”
For the next fifteen minutes, they walked through the maze of towering fabric bolts, stopping every time Yasmin saw something that took her fancy—a canary yellow and magenta stripe, a dizzying pattern of French botanicals with a blue background. At each one she’d stop and stroke it, turning puppy-dog eyes to Lane. Finally they came to an area surrounded by every shade of gold imaginable.
“Ohhhhhh.” That noise of pleasure at the back of her throat again. “Lane, this is beautiful,” she said and she picked up the corner of fabric. “Look how rich it is. It’s textured and a little bit shimmery.” She played with the weight of it in her hand. “And I think it would fall beautifully.” She lifted it to her face and breathed. “And it smells all fresh and linen-y.”
“Let’s hope that’s the closest it gets to anyone’s nose.” He stepped closer and rubbed a piece between his fingers. “Feels good. Let’s take a look at the price tag.”
Beside him, she stretched up on tiptoe as he brought the tag closer.
“Thirty dollars per yard. Not too bad. I think we might have found what we’re looking for.”
“Oh my God, you’re a genius!” She reached an arm around his shoulders and when he turned back to look at her, they both froze.
He gazed down into her warm brown eyes and was sucker punched by the excitement and joy he found there. This was about so much more than fabric and decorating to her. This was about self-expression and wearing her heart on her sleeve, exactly the things that made him feel as though he was in unchartered territory. He was so logical and sensible and Yasmin was…not. But he didn’t care. In this instant he wanted to get as close to her as he could; he wanted some part of her zest for life and her crazy, naive excitement to brush off on him.
From somewhere in her handbag came the sound of her mindfulness bell. It was a call to the moment, a signal to forget about the past, to not worry about the future. Maybe it was even a call for him to let go of everything and lose himself in her.
Before he could decide, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. Her lips were cool and moist, her breathing rapid, and when she made that noise at the back of her throat again, he knew he couldn’t pull away. He backed her into the stack of fabric rolls opposite, all the while kissing her mouth.
A tide of sensations overpowered him. The clean, freshly laundered scent of the fabrics surrounding them, the sound of her body brushing up against the silk roll behind her, and the dazed look on her face when he finally pulled his lips from hers was priceless.
“Lane,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Her brown eyes were wide, her breathing rapid.
“I’m living in the moment,” he said and brushed his hand down the soft skin of her cheek. He didn’t want to talk or think, he just wanted to taste those dusky lips, so he leaned in and kissed her again. This time she hooked both hands around his neck and kissed him deeper, and a shudder ripped through his body. Cupping her face in his hands, he savored the sweet taste of her, wanting more—
“I do hope you realize that any damage to the fabrics will be charged in full.”
They sprang apart, and the shop assistant was looking at them disapprovingly over the top of her glasses. “Body oils can leave permanent stains on such fine material.”
Yasmin swung her gaze to him and looked as though she was about to burst into laughter. He was still trying to get the blood back to his brain, so humor and thought were impossible.
“I take it you’ve finally agreed on a shade,” Marilyn said, her lips pursed.
Lane cleared his throat and straightened his collar. He felt like a schoolboy who’d been caught kissing a girl behind the bleachers. The scent of Yasmin was still light across his skin, and each time he breathed, the essence of her was lost a little more.
“Oh, yes, we like the feel of this one, don’t we, Lane?” Yasmin said as a great, beaming smile glowed across her face.
Lane averted his eyes from Marilyn and suppressed a smile before standing straighter and pulling himself together. He managed to ask for a sample of the gold fabric, and after they’d talked quantities and price, she promised to come to the Palace and measure up, then thanked them for their business.
When they were finally finished, Lane followed Yasmin out to the car.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said when they reached his convertible. “I got a bit carried away with all the excitement, and you looked so gorgeous among all that silk and satin.” She bit her lip. “I hope it doesn’t put you in an awkward position.”
He flicked his sunglasses down onto his face, partly to avoid the glare of the midday sun, and partly so Yasmin couldn’t see the effect she was having on him. “No harm done.”
“No one would have to know about us, you know,” she said softly. “Not Nick, not your friends or my parents. I know why you don’t want anything to happen between us, that you’re worried about what my family’s reaction would be, but why does anyone have to know?”
Need still thrummed in his blood, urging him to take what she was offering. He managed to hold firm, but he couldn’t look at her
. “They’d find out eventually.”
“Not if we didn’t want them to. We could take things at our own pace, and if we’re both still into it after a while, we could then think about it. We could just focus on it being a fling for now.”
He straightened his spine, steeling himself against her invitation. What was the point of a fling? Flings, by definition, had an end date, and where would that leave them? Awkward when they were around each other again, regretful that they’d crossed an invisible line that they couldn’t get back again. No matter how fresh that incredible kiss still was in his mind and on his mouth, or that the only thing he wanted to do right now was press her against a wall and feel her body beneath his, he couldn’t see this as ending any other way than very badly.
…
“Yas, Paulo’s crew has finished with the floor. Do you want to come see?” Lane was looking at her from around the office door, his hair a little mussed.
It was late Wednesday afternoon, the only day for the next week without a wedding, and with no restaurant bookings either, Paulo’s workmen had been installing the new floor.
“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.” Grace had asked her opinion on the new advertising, but it could wait. She dropped the papers and turned back but he’d already gone. Her chest hollowed. He seemed to be doing that a lot—appearing and disappearing. Though it was less about him doing it in the flesh and more about him only letting her see parts of himself for a short time before pulling them back behind his walls again.
She sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. For the first time since she’d been back, she felt quite weak and exhausted. She’d slept late after they worked into the night. Since the kiss at the store yesterday, she’d been unsure of where things sat with Lane. He was friendly and pleasant when they worked together, but nothing more had been said about the kiss, and she couldn’t help feeling that he’d be quite happy if it was never referred to again.
Maybe he wished it hadn’t happened at all.
But that lingering kiss had played over and over in her head, setting her nerves alight each time. The memory of how his body fitted, warm and firm, against her own had become intoxicating, and she wanted it to happen again. Maybe the fact that she was holding back about her illness was acting as a barrier between them. Perhaps she should really open up and tell him everything that had happened to her. Maybe then everything would fall away between them and he’d pull her close and do all the things she was imagining.
She made her way over to the restaurant, passing Paulo and his workmen on their way out. “I hope you like it, Yasmin,” Paulo said with a wink. “There’s plenty of room for dancing. Give me a call when you want a lesson.”
“I’m sure it looks great. Thanks so much for all your hard work.” She shook his outstretched hand. “I’ll give you a call some time.”
“I’m counting on an invitation to the relaunch,” he said and gave her another smile. “I’ve got a date I’d like to bring, too, if that’s okay.”
“We’d love to see you both.” Yasmin grinned back. Paulo had never really been attracted to her; he was just one of those guys who couldn’t help flirting with any girl he met. She hoped his date could see through that.
“Mano, I’ll wring that bird’s neck!” Monty said as she passed his cage. She dug her hand in her pocket for the peanuts that she’d gotten used to carrying around. He flew with one in his beak to his perch and chewed it noisily. “Pardon me,” he said when he’d finished. “Toast the bride, toast the bride!”
She opened the door to the restaurant to see Lane standing in the middle of the brand-new floor, his black pants rolled up and nothing but socks on his feet. Even though he’d been helping with the physical work all afternoon, apart from his slightly disheveled hair, he still looked as composed as ever. Her fingers itched to ruffle him, to be the one who made him lose his composure, just like he had against those rolls of fabric. Perhaps even undo his buttons and run her hands across the warm expanse of his skin before tossing his shirt to the floor.
Paulo’s men had laid the pre-polished floor through the night and had spent the morning putting a final coat of wax on it. It had hues of honey and gold that cast a warm glow onto the walls. It was the perfect choice.
“Wow,” she said, and the word echoed around the room, causing her to laugh. “It’s amazing.” With all the tables they’d moved out after the dinner service last night, it was light and airy.
“What do you think?” Lane said, hands on hips.
“It’s gorgeous.” She bent down and slid her hand across the smooth wood. “And so slippery.”
“You can’t wear shoes on it yet, apparently. It’s bare feet or socks.”
“How will it stand up to high heels, then?”
“Fine,” he said, nodding. “We used a very hard wood that won’t mark at all. We just can’t put anything heavy or sharp on it for twenty-four hours because of the wax.”
Yasmin pulled off the electric-blue wedges that had been killing her all day and sighed as her hot feet met the cool of the wood floor.
“They’ve done a great job,” Lane said, crouching down to inspect it.
“What do we have to do to take care of it?”
“Not much, just a coat of polish every now and again.”
Yasmin slid her feet along one of the boards. “Have you tried a little slide?”
He frowned at her as if she was speaking another language. “Sorry?”
“Before I got here,” she said patiently, “did you take a run up and skid across the floor?”
“No.” He gave her that look he’d given her a lot in the beginning, as if she was a little bit deranged and he hadn’t been able to work out why he’d been stuck with her.
His reaction just made her want to be fun and spontaneous all the more. She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Then I think you should.”
“What?” He shook his head as if to rid himself of the nonsense she was talking. “Now the floor’s down we need to move quickly to cover it up so we can finish off the painting. It would have been preferable to get the floor down after we’d painted to minimize accidents, but this is a crazy schedule we’re working to.”
“Then it’s vital that we test the skidability of the floor before we cover it all up with rugs and drop sheets. Go on, I dare you.” He was already walking over to the first wall that needed painting, the enormous mural of Santorini.
“I’m not doing any sort of sliding.” He’d pulled a tape measure out of his suit pocket.
“Then take your socks off.”
He turned back and looked at her, incredulous. “Pardon?”
She walked closer and held out her hand. “To save me going all the way back to the apartment to find some socks, just give me yours. This floor is begging to be slid on, and if you won’t do it, I’ll have to.”
He rolled his eyes at her but she held his gaze.
He looked down at his socks. “They probably stink after a day of work. And they’d be way too big. Your feet are all tiny and delicate. Let’s just get on with covering it up so we can start painting.”
She lifted a shoulder and grinned. “I grew up with two brothers, remember. My sense of smell was obliterated years ago. But one thing they did teach me was how to master a perfect floor slide. And thanks, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me about my feet. Now give me your socks.”
…
“You’re completely mad. You know that, don’t you?” He shook his head but bent down, put the tape measure on the floor and started to remove one of his black socks.
Everything happened on a whim for her, and it made him crazy. And ever so slightly jealous. What must it feel like to just do whatever you wanted, whenever the mood hit you? What would that sense of freedom, that blowing in the face of convention, feel like? If the look on her face was anything to go by, it’d feel pretty damn good.
Yasmin removed the cropped jacket she was wearing over a sunny yellow dress and took the sock fro
m him, smiling. “You know you want to do it. I can see the thrill in your eyes.”
She sat down to put the first sock on while he removed the second one. Finally, he was standing barefoot and she held out her hand for him to help her up.
“I’ll expect you to fix any holes you put in them,” he said gruffly as he pulled her up.
“Life’s too short to darn socks,” she said with a grin. She looked so perfect with her simple yellow dress, her purple and black hair caught in a turquoise head scarf. With his black socks pulled up on her smooth calves, she looked like something out of an alternate Disney fairy tale. All he could focus on was those lips he’d kissed yesterday and the feel of her arms looped around his neck. A second too late he realized he’d been holding her hand too long, and he hurriedly dropped it and put his own behind his back.
He’d justified the kiss at the fabric store as Yasmin being carried away with the excitement of the drapes. He felt he’d dealt with it successfully.
She gave him a wink and then started moving away, pushing her feet out like she was an Olympic ice skater. When she reached the far side of the room she turned and leaned against the wall. “Okay, here goes!” She started to run, gaining speed so that the head scarf flitted out behind her. When she reached the middle of the room, she threw her arms out, twisted her body to the left and went sliding all the way to the other wall.
“Woohoo!” she cried. “Can you imagine what it’s going to be like when we use this as a dance floor? I want to see Paulo in here doing a few of his salsa moves.”
The high, musical tone of her voice echoed around the walls and high ceilings until it almost felt as though her voice was playing in his head. He smiled. How could a twenty-four-year-old sound thrilled about simply sliding across a floor? He had no idea, but damn if it wasn’t making his heart beat stronger.
She set off again, reached the middle, then let out a whoop as she made it to the other side. “Wanna go?” she panted as she struck a pose like a sprinter and then set off across the floor once again. “I’ll give you your socks back if you promise you’ll do it just once.”
The Bouquet List: a Weddings in Westchester novel (Entangled Bliss) Page 8