by Alice Ward
She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Shall we continue?” our guide asked with a note of caution in her voice then waved at the enormous shower and marble sink with two basins.
She discretely motioned to a door for the separate toilet area, and we went to the entrance area before moving toward the hall that led to the bedroom.
CHAPTER SIX
Ava
“Are you okay?” Lucas asked with a concerned lover look that had butterflies thumping in my stomach as we fell behind our tour guide.
“Yes.” It came out as a whisper so soft I knew he barely heard it. “Let’s see the rest of this place,” I said, mostly to distance myself from the attraction I felt every time I laid eyes on Lucas. It was obvious already that he was raring to go, and I wondered at my own capability to hold him off.
The guide led us down the hallway with doors on either side, each designated as mine or his with nameplates. I turned the knob of the one with my name and pushed it open. As the gap between the door and the jamb widened, the light clicked on. I gasped. A walk-in closet. I’d never had a walk-in closet, had always coveted them.
I walked inside, the guide following as I took in the bare necessities hanging from the rods. I was stunned to see the few garments hanging there. A pair of jeans, an expensive t-shirt, a purple ski outfit, a barely-there negligée nightgown, which made me shiver, and two garment bags with mystery clothes.
I was stunned until the guide handed me a red envelope with white-embossed vines looping into hearts running around the edges. I opened it and smiled at the instructions, glee filling my chest. I’d been hoping for something wearable with a little style, but this was even better.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lucas peeking around the doorframe into my closet. “Whoa. There must be some mix up. You should practically have a closet full.” A hint of anger changed his face to an even harder countenance.
I knew I had to be glowing, but didn’t care as I waved the note in my hand. This was significant.
“What’d you find there?” Lucas asked, looking truly interested.
“I’ve been given my personal request.” A note of excitement rang through my voice. “I spoke to your uncle about it in my interview. I need to design my wardrobe by midnight. Six outfits. Two evening gowns, two cocktail dresses, one casual outfit and one outfit that one would categorize as… um, more casual.” Actually, BDSM. My face flamed and I hoped Lucas would take that for excitement too. The card said I’d be paid another hundred thousand if I could complete the items by midnight, so I couldn’t very well not do it because of some kinky outfit.
Lucas searched my eyes, surprise at the reflection of my happiness shining in his. “That seems like a tall order, but if it makes you happy…”
It was strange how I could read every emotion that crossed his face, and I wondered if it was just me, or if he wore his heart on his thousand-dollar suit and just didn’t know it.
Lucas turned to the guide. “Is there a similar envelope for me? A… um, request?”
“No, sir. This is personal for Miss Durant and is not part of the contest challenge from earlier.”
I lifted a shoulder. “All right.”
The guide motioned us along, and the next thing I knew, I was staring down at a king-sized bed strewn with rose petals and trying to control my breathing. I could feel his eyes on my back, and I struggled to hear our guide’s words.
“…three entrances to the bedroom, one through the hallway with your walk-in closets, one through the bathroom and another coming in from the main hall.”
I forced my attention to the vase of roses by the bed that was sitting next to a tray of chocolates, then ordered myself to check out the view from the window. The bedroom had the same lovely picture windows as the living room. Above the bed was a large skylight. You would be able to see the sky clearly while lying in it. Magnificent.
A scenario of Lucas and I, our limbs tangled as we rolled together on the bed under the stars flashed through my mind.
I stepped away from the bed just as the guide said her goodbyes. I was so hot. Was I coming down with something?
I ripped my eyes away from the romantic scene and zeroed in on the fabric of the drapes. It looked luxurious from here.
I’d become a fashion designer because I’d been swooped out of my ragtag living room by every season of “Project Runway” and saved my sparse allowance for fabric to make my own eclectic designs. In the small town of Witts Springs, Arkansas, I’d had the dreams of a city girl, but now, I felt like a country girl lost in a big city fantasy.
I was raised with my sister, sharing a bedroom and bunk beds, the walls weeping with peeling wallpaper, so the opulence was a bit overwhelming. I wished she could be here to see me now.
Except… I swallowed. There was only one bed. Which I would be sleeping in with Lucas.
Okay, scratch the wish she could see me now.
As the oldest, I needed to remember why I was here. No matter what it took, no matter what I had to do, I would procure what was needed to take care of her, make sure her belly didn’t growl from hunger and that she didn’t have to go off to a gigantic city all alone with nothing to chase but her dreams.
I looked down at the blouse I’d made to remind myself of the reason I was really here. I’d created fabric from my memory of the yellowing wallpaper print of our room as it juxtaposed to the cracked cinder block walls.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened my spine and turned to face Lucas.
I knew I was well protected in this game, trusted Mr. Huffman and his stellar business record. Still, I didn’t trust the man standing before me, and I worried that behind those marvelously beautiful eyes, there was something nefarious.
I’d agreed to do this, thought it would challenge every fiber of my small-town-girl being to be here. Toughen me up so I could come out more than just surviving the cutthroat fashion industry of New York. It’d all happened so fast. I’d been catapulted from a fairly normal existence… to this. Since we’d left dinner and the comfort of other people, even competitors, I recognized just how alone and isolated we were.
Alone. With a stranger.
A stranger who was studying me much the same way I was him. His dark hair was ruthlessly cut, his jaw not daring to show so much as a hint of five o’clock shadow. His shoulders were wide, and I’d bet his chest would be hard if I poked my finger into it. I wanted to… poke my finger there and run it downward, see if his abs stood out the way I thought they would, see if that was a bulge beneath his zipper or if I was imagining things. Had that website rubbed off on me?
He cleared his throat. “Would you like to tackle your project in the kitchen? There seemed to be good lighting there, and we can open a bottle of wine.”
“Oh, that sounds great. Thank you.” From what I’d seen of Lucas, he was very aware of his surroundings, and I admired a man who noticed what others would need or want.
I couldn’t help but be amazed earlier when the elevator doors opened to the wide expanse of space we crossed now to get to the kitchen. The living room space was easily four times the size of my whole apartment in New York. Surely we could stay out of each other’s way.
There was plenty of room for Lucas and me in this space, which made me feel more secure. Better. More like I had room to build a strategy. If I knew what the competition held in store.
Sitting with Mason and Isabella and making small talk had been hard, and most likely would become more difficult over time. I wanted to like them, be friends with them, didn’t feel comfortable being pitted against them. But I had to think of them as adversaries. They stood in the way of my dream and my sister’s future.
Continuing to be attentive, Lucas led me to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for me, not stepping away until he was sure I was comfortable. I was a sucker for a gentleman and forced down the sigh that automatically came into my throat.
A wine glass clinked onto the table as Lucas sat it in front
of me. “Have you always wanted to be a fashion designer?”
I smiled, remembering the botched outfits I’d made for Barbie out of things I’d salvage from the clothes boxes we’d get from the church. “Since I knew what a skirt was.” He smiled and sat down across from me, looking interested, so I continued, “I learned to design clothes that were wearable for my sister and me by practicing on my Barbie dolls. Barbie came out quite fashionable, but I’m afraid I lost interest in Ken early on. He’s probably still bumbling around in trousers that could fall off any minute due to faulty stitching.”
That made me think of Lucas with his pants off, and my face grew hot. I had to stop thinking this way. I would have to sleep next to the man tonight, keyword being sleep.
Lucas smiled and looked down at the formal dress my hand was practically sketching on its own. Because most of my focus was on him and I couldn’t seem to break it away.
“I’m sure your pants stay up now. Or do for a time.” He winked, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. But before I could decide, he jumped right in. “Tell me, is money a motivator for you?” His face was serious and stoic.
A rock bottomed out in my stomach, and my brain scrambled around the things it wanted to say in response. I shot a sideways glance at him, afraid I couldn’t keep the how-could-you-be-such-a-dumbass look off my face.
“I saved for years to go to New York School of Design, as I intend to own my own fashion boutique and brand one day. I’m pretty sure most women who enter this type of competition do so for the money.”
He agreed, and for a second, looked mildly embarrassed as if he hadn’t realized money could be a strong motivator. He probably had never needed to do something he didn’t want to do for the money.
Guilt wanted to stab me and shriek, you’re nothing but a prostitute, taking money for what is obviously going to involve sex with a stranger! But in the end, I could have mine and my sister’s dreams in my hands. And besides, wasn’t sex with a stranger a hot genre in the romance market? Hell, maybe I’d write a book — a fiction romance — so no one would know it was actually the truth.
“Any other aspirations?”
“In the spring I’m going to audition for “Project Runway.” I’ve been watching it for years, and it really built my confidence in being able to succeed in an industry so competitive. I’m not the most competitive person.”
“Oh. You don’t seem to be the Hedon.com type. Am I right?” He seemed genuinely interested.
“I can’t say I completely disapprove of Hedon. I mean, everyone has their outlet for stuff, and I’m glad it offers people a chance to get their freak on, but that’s not really me. I believe in love.”
“And you think people who get their freak on, don’t?” It didn’t seem like he was judging, just asking.
“Maybe not in the same way.” I danced around the insult, trying to lessen the sting since I was picking up on that maybe he was the Hedon.com type. I was also trying to think around my brain screaming for me to run.
“In what way do you see love?” He leaned closer, his eyes in the overhead light looking as deep as a crystal clear well at twilight. I could fall into them and never surface.
“I guess love is being attracted to the other person, of course, but beyond that, it’s accepting faults as well as the things that make us fabulous. It’s allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to the unknown together. If a couple can brave the inevitability of life with each other and still want to get crazy in the bedroom or travel to Peru when they’re ninety, then I feel that’s love.” I was babbling, so I shut my trap and reached for the humor I usually got through life with.
“Very astute, Ava Durant. Who did you learn that wisdom from?”
“Ken and Barbie. They’re very in love and share all things. They also travel a lot in their RV.”
Lucas’s eyes lit with delight, and I found I wanted to make them do that again and again.
The truth was, that’s what I wanted love to look like. The light shining there in Lucas’s eyes.
“I like it. I hope Ken and Barbie make it to Peru. I can see you’re grappling with the context of the contest, and I’m interested in what you have to say. I find your ideas refreshing. Please don’t think I find your motivation distasteful. It may look like I don’t know anything other than this lifestyle, but I do.”
I felt myself flush and put more concentration into the evening gown I was sketching. I had to be more careful to guard my judgments, he’d obviously seen right through me.
“Sadly,” Lucas continued, “just before my father died, he made a bad business deal which left my mother and me nearly destitute. Uncle Harv gave us a great deal of ‘get back on our feet money,’ but my mom objected, so she put it into a trust for me. I didn’t have a spoiled brat upbringing like Mason did.”
“Oh?” That caught my interest. He thought Mason was the spoiled brat. I was suddenly glad I’d been paired with Lucas. I detested spoiled brats, and if Mason was even more spoiled than Lucas, then good luck to Isabella. “What did you do with the money? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Of course not. The reason Uncle ordered us not to copulate, I’m assuming, was to force us to get to know each other. I used that money when I was twenty-nine years old to start a small investment banking business, which I’ve been running for four years now.”
The clear, bottomlessness of his eyes clouded until it seemed as if a shutter snapped shut in them, not allowing me to see something he’d hidden deep.
Suddenly, I wanted to get to know him, wanted to draw him out until he trusted me enough to share his deepest, darkest secrets.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lucas
I had an almost impeccable public reputation, which I’d spent a lot of money to maintain, so I couldn’t let my darker side out of the box just yet. Not before I knew what this intriguing, beautiful, original woman was made of. She didn’t seem the sort to blab for the sake of flapping her jaws, but like she’d said, she was in it for the money. I’d learned from being a part of a prestigious family never to leave anything to chance when it came to reputation.
“How old were you when you lost your father?”
Her question shocked me. Had she not read all the tabloids? Mason and I were practically the poster boys of rampant gossip for the publications.
“Nine,” I said almost before I realized I was forming an answer. She was just so easy to talk to. I’d have to watch that. “My father, Uncle Harv’s older brother, Ronald, died of cancer at the age of forty-five. My mother, Gloria, raised me alone. I became the man of the family at an early age and thus grew up way before my time.”
“So, you didn’t have money growing up.”
It was something we had in common, I realized, and I liked her even more for her strength in following her dream. I knew it couldn’t have been easy. Sitting here with me not knowing whether I would ravage her couldn’t be easy either.
I smiled and shook my head. “Mason is the only one here with a golden spoon in his mouth. Uncle Harvey wasn’t raised wealthy. In fact, my grandparents were what could be considered poor. Mason’s mom, Uncle’s sister, married a man from an extremely wealthy family who thought she was beneath their son’s station, but since Marianne was so pretty, they made an exception for her.”
Ava nodded her agreement with a rueful look. “Beauty can buy a person a lot.”
She looked like maybe that lesson had been learned the hard way, and probably in school. Future fashion queens could probably be pretty cutthroat.
“The trade-off was, they owned her life. She couldn’t say or do anything that violated their strict upper-class etiquette. Any problems Mason had led to finger-wagging and blame pointed at her and her low-born family. The tragedy in her case was that to retain the lifestyle for her son, she watched her husband cheat with other women. To cope, she focused her love and attention on Mason. Then she didn’t really have anything left over for herself when he finally divorced her. And Mason r
an wild with her trying to compensate for his father’s lack of attention. His only steadying influence was my mother.”
“So you were raised very differently. Still, you must be very close.”
I barely stopped myself from laughing. Time for a change of subject.
I knew what I wanted to ask, but didn’t know why I was practically shaking from the inside out. Was I really this nervous? I felt electrified, as if I’d already gotten into this game and wanted to push her until she’d reached her edge.
“Under what circumstances, if any, would you agree to engage in a sexual activity that was beyond your comfort zone?” My voice portrayed my careful consideration of the question, but I’d been so overly anxious I’d forgotten to lead her in.
Ava’s eyes widened, and she dropped her pencil.
Oops.
She recovered quickly, picking up the pencil and threading it back in forth in the fingers of both hands. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she said, “I don’t think I’d enjoy engaging in any activity that was out of my comfort zone.”
I could’ve sworn my heart detached from my chest cavity and plummeted into my stomach. “Oh.”
She looked directly at me then. “However, if my partner was a person I cared for deeply, I might consider making sexual concessions for him if he really needed… what was beyond my comfort zone. That said, I’d prefer that the act not be debasing or demeaning to me, because if you can hurt someone you love… well, it isn’t love, is it? I guess, if it was a way of sharing love with my partner I might consider doing something I otherwise wouldn’t have tried.”
My muscles relaxed. When they did, I realized how important it was to me that she approve of what we would be doing. Like it, even. The thought of her crying out for more had me rock-hard in an instant.
I smiled as if I didn’t have a stellar boner jutting up under the table. “Thank you for your candor, Ava. Again, I find it delightful.”
And there was no way I was going to stop now, this had just gotten fun.