by Audrey Storm
Robe? Had she really described Jake as a robe, threadbare but soft? Was that what she was entering into? How could she live her life with a robe, for God’s sake?
Panic gripped Heather—she had to get out of here. Now! Shelly came back to get another gulp of her drink and Heather grabbed her maid of honor’s arm. “Can you stay with the purses? I think I drank too much. Meet you in the suite.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just hurried out of the club. Heather wound her way around the gaming areas, keeping her head down. She wasn’t the sort of girl men looked at anyway, so she was able to make it through without anyone stopping her. She stumbled when she got to the elevator banks and stopped still, trying to keep her panic at bay. As she punched the up button, she caught a look at herself in the reflective surface of the elevator doors.
Great! Her blonde hair was tousled, her eyes were red, her royal-blue dress had hiked up a little and her tiara just looked stupid. A tiara, really? What the hell had she been thinking? She’d let herself get swept away by the thoughts and idea of being a princess for one night, and what had it gotten her? A couple of free drinks, a few creepy guys flirting with her, and a tiara. And the realization that her soon-to-be husband was a comfortable threadbare robe.
For some reason, that robe was a defining point for her. A robe. A robe!?!? She couldn’t consign herself to that life, could she? Heather was vaguely aware that she was hyperventilating and couldn’t stop. She looked a total mess, and then the doors to the elevator opened, hiding her reflection from her. Probably best anyway. Two other elevators opened at the same time, their occupants heading excitedly toward the gaming floor. It all seemed so happy and fun; nothing like Heather was feeling.
She slid into the elevator, moving to a back corner after pressing the button for her floor. She expected a bunch of people to join her, but instead, only one man glided in, smooth and easy. He hit the button for her floor, too, even though it was already lit. And then he turned to her, and her heart skipped a beat.
He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, maybe six feet tall, with dark hair, shining glossy in the harsh light of the elevator. His olive-toned skin and deep eyes—they might have been brown, but she suspected they were black—gave him a look that could have been Mediterranean, or could have been Native American. His cheekbones were sculpted and high, lips were lush, and oh God, he had a body that didn’t quit.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice cultured and soft.
“Hi,” she replied, feeling a little off-kilter. He was so good-looking and something about him commanded attention. She took in a breath as the elevator started moving.
“Have fun?” he asked, and his serious expression turned into a wry grin. She was momentarily confused, and then she realized that her tiara was still on. Thank God she’d told the girls that there was no way she’d wear that silly sash that proclaimed she was a bride-to-be.
When she didn’t answer, he continued speaking. “What is the occasion and do you wear that all the time?”
“I…no. Bachelorette party.”
“And are you the lucky lady?” he asked, moving in closer. Why weren’t they on their floor already? It seemed as if they’d been traveling for an eternity. Heather’s breath caught when he moved a couple of steps closer.
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart racing, her body doing things that it had no business doing. She was going to get married, and she didn’t need to be distracted by…this.
“That is unacceptable,” he said, coming closer still. It shouldn’t have thrilled her, it should have terrified her, but she was feeling anything but terror. God, was she getting turned on this easily? How did that happen? With Jake sometimes it took a half hour to get her as ready as she was right now, her panties dampening, her nipples coming to hard, aching points. Her breathing—God, she was so not ready for this.
Ready?
What was her body thinking?
“Who-why?” she asked, biting down on her bottom lip before she asked more. Before she…before she what? She screwed up her courage. “You don’t know me. How can you say that?”
“I know you,” he assured her, his smile turning a little scary. Why that turned her on even more, she didn’t know. She wanted to be defensive, wanted to feel fear instead of desire, but her body was reacting in the vein of a too-stupid-to-live heroine and disobeying her as much as possible.
Not good. At all. She didn’t know this man—for all she knew, he could be the ones her mother warned her about. Don’t talk to strangers worked a lot better when she was six years old and he wasn’t so damn compelling. If a little strange.
“No, you don’t know me at all,” she retorted, feeling a bit of bravado creeping in. “I’ve never met you; trust me, I would have remembered.”
“I didn’t say we’d met, only that I know you…Heather. I know your type. I know the way you move and operate.” He closed the distance between them, standing so close to her she almost lost the ability to breathe. “I know you’re questioning what this is between us, but trust me; I think you know something is missing in your relationship. It is me. Give me a chance, Heather.”
She had to be dreaming this because gorgeous men so did not do this in her world. Not to her, with more than a few pounds on her frame. As pretty as she was, she was never mistaken for the prettier girls in her group. It was only on a night like tonight that she would have caught the notice of a handsome man. Who apparently knew her name—My God, had they had a stripper delivered to the VIP area? When he hadn’t found her there, had he followed her? It made sense, and explained how he knew her name.
“What’s your shtick?” she asked him just a wee bit sarcastically. “What song do you dance to?” She sang a few bars of that song proclaiming tonight was going to be a very good night that was popular a few years ago.
“Why do you think I dance?” he asked, amusement shining in his eyes. “Do you think I’m a stripper? Is that it?”
She nodded, eyeing him. “You’re not?” His surprise seemed natural, his chuckle adorable. Why wasn’t this elevator moving faster?
“No, Heather, I’m not. Would you like me to be?”
“No!” She was an almost married woman. Well, maybe almost married. God, she was a mess. “I want you to be…whatever you are.”
He sighed dramatically, leaning against the wall of the elevator, and gave her a gentle smile. “The thing is, Heather, I don’t think you’re ready for whatever I am. Are you? Do you want to leave this life behind for a little while?” His words were so mysterious and while she knew she should say no, while she knew this would label her reckless, at best, in any world, she had a deep sense of safety with him. And a niggling sense that if she didn’t say yes, her life would be colorless and boring, which was…strange. She didn’t know why it meant something all of a sudden for her to connect with this stranger.
“I’m getting out of this elevator on our floor. If you want to explore this, follow me. If you don’t…” He gave her a smile. “Then I wish you many fruitful and wholly exciting years with your spouse.”
Exciting? A robe? So not exciting. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do, and when the elevator dinged and opened on their floor, she watched him turn left down the corridor. Her suite was to the right. Heather hesitated only a moment before turning left and toward eternity.
Dante knew she was following—it was as he expected, as was destined. Though Heather would always have free will. Dante just wish she could be told the entire story, about her and her expected fate.
It had taken more time for him to find the woman for him, and when he’d discovered it was school administrator Heather who was his foretold mate, he’d been shocked and not more than a little surprised. Foretold mates didn’t tend to be in such mundane and mainstream careers. He’d been tracking her for a couple of weeks, had even considered stepping aside if her marital aspirations seemed solid enough. But they weren’t; Dante knew that. She wasn’t cut out for a life where she bore the burden of responsibili
ties—financial, emotional, and maturity wise. He didn’t care for her fiancé at all, not the way he treated his lady, nor his lack of responsibility toward her. It didn’t take a man as old as Dante to know that opening a door was appropriate, to know that you always deferred to the lady in your life. But her fiancé did no such thing. It was always Jake’s way. From observing them, Dante sometimes wondered if Jake didn’t cry out for a little discipline.
Never mind those thoughts, Dante told himself, striding down the corridor to his suite. It was elaborate and not needed, but he had the money to burn and it had placed him on the same floor as Heather. When he’d made his decision the other day to pursue her wholly, he’d had to try to find a perfect time for it. In the build-up to the wedding, she’d been so busy and with too many people. Dante hadn’t dared sweep her off with a gaggle of girlfriends around. Though some of them might have applauded her choice of a stronger and more solidly mature man.
He opened the door to his suite, leaving it ajar with his foot. When she appeared in the doorway, several seconds later, he gave her a big, broad smile, trying to hide his relief. Knowing something deep inside and making it a reality were two very different things. She could always have said no, or turned in the opposite direction or…really any outcome would have meant his failure.
“So glad to have you join me, Heather,” he told her, removing the silly tiara made of plastic. If she wanted one, he’d get her one of metal and precious jewels, not that travesty probably found in some party supply store.
“Who are you?” she asked, looking up at him, her lips parted slightly. The bright red lipstick she’d worn earlier had worn off, leaving her lips touched by the softest of pinks, moistened by her saliva rather than some sticky, chemical laden gloss.
“Dante,” he said by way of an introduction. “From Milwaukee, just like you. In fact, I’ve been watching you.”
He wondered if that had been too much, when she’d looked at the door, so he stepped back, moving deeper into the suite. No use in scaring her right off the bat like this.
“You have?” Her uncertain tone called to something deep inside him and he longed to soothe her.
“Yes. I know Grace quite well.”
“Grace?” Her forehead wrinkled and he waited her out, knowing she’d connect the threads eventually. Sooner rather than later, he was certain. She was a highly intelligent woman. “Aunt Grace?”
He nodded, leaning casually against the wall of the main living area of the suite, a room away from her. She stayed right by the door, twitchy but not ready to run yet. He needed to make sure she wouldn’t.
“You’re not the ‘fine young man’ that my aunt keeps talking about, are you? You run a beer, cheese, and wine shop?”
“I do.” It was one of many businesses he owned, and when he’d been told his mate was in Milwaukee, it hadn’t been hard to establish a presence there and his shop did a wonderful business.
“Oh. Then I guess you’re not exactly a stranger,” Heather said. “She’s told me about the wonderful guy who lets her knitting group meet there for ‘Wine Stitch Wednesdays,’ is that you?”
“It is,” Dante replied. “Grace is a lovely lady and she her friends helped the shop turn a profit on their quietest days. She’s also running a book club there on Thursday nights. She’s one of my most loyal and treasured customers.”
Heather was starting to relax; Dante could sense it. “So why, then, are you in Vegas the same week I am? That’s a little…strange.”
She had no idea just how strange things were likely to get for her, and how her world was about to change. He gave her an indulgent smile, waiting a few moments before answering. The unspoken language, Dante found, was often the most loud and most resonant.
Heather was speaking volumes. The way she looked at him, assessing him all the while, spoke of her intellect and problem-solving abilities, while her wariness telegraphed healthy caution. He wouldn’t have expected any differently from someone he was to be mated to.
“I had some frequent traveler miles and your aunt suggested I come out. I managed to get a suite and I was looking for you. She speaks so glowingly about you that I wanted to meet you and spend some time together.”
“Oh.” That single word spoke volumes as well. She was clearly telegraphing her thoughts, letting him know that she always compared herself to her friends, and many times, she came up lacking. Not to him and not in his world. Her curves would be revered just as much as her intellect.
“Is it so hard to believe a handsome man might want to spend time with a beautiful woman?”
“I guess not.” She still seemed unconvinced and he moved closer, step by measured step, as if he was gentling a wild animal and not trying to become very intimately acquainted with his mate.
“Heather, I know enough to realize Jake is not the man for you. Do you want that life with him? Do you need him to be the one you take care of, or are you ready for a different kind of relationship, even if it isn’t with him?”
Her eyes widened at that. “He’s a robe.” She said, and Dante just watched her, not following her train of thought.
“A robe?”
Heather threw up her hands into the air and started pacing. “A robe. One of those threadbare, comfortable, a robe you’d never take out of the house, but when you’re depressed, you put it on and it feels right. Do you know what I mean?”
He thought he did, and nodded. “Who is the robe then? Jake?’
“Yeah.”
“Robes are okay,” he agreed with a nod. “But do you want that same threadbare robe in your life when you’re seventy?” Or a hundred seventy, he added silently. “Wouldn’t you rather have a little black dress that makes you feel sexy and empowered? Possibly with a pair of red pumps that you’d look phenomenal in? Wouldn’t that be much more exciting in the end?”
He knew she was thinking of this whole robe analogy hard, when she leaned back against the door and stared at the ceiling of the suite. “I’d love a little black dress, but I’m not sure I’m the type.”
“Can you be sure? Don’t settle for the robe without trying on the little black dress and those great shoes.”
“Do you know where I can find one?” she asked in a whisper.
“Right here.”
Had he really said that? Heather figured she had to be mistaken; there was no little black dress around, literally or figuratively. If he was a piece of clothing, he’d be…Gosh; she couldn’t even begin to suggest what he’d be. But it would be expensive and probably from a designer she only heard of in passing. And way, way out of her price range, financially or emotionally. Because if he was saying what she thought he was, there was just no way. He was so far beyond her league that it didn’t even bear discussion. It was like putting that threadbare robe with those pumps she could only imagine on her feet.
“What are you saying?” she asked, willing him to just spell it out.
“I’m your little black dress. Try me on.”
The word filtered into her mind and Heather swallowed hard, the adrenaline and something else entirely mixing. She swayed before resting against the door with a little thunk, the force of her arousal taking her by surprise. This didn’t happen to her. It just didn’t. She was a slow burn and the flame out girl, not a raging inferno begging to be stoked.
Or stroked. God, those long fingers would feel like heaven on her. Wait! What was she thinking?!?
Stop that!
“Stop what?” he asked, examining his hand as if he’d known what she was thinking. But wait, had she told him to stop it or herself? She had no idea any more.
“Do you have some water?” she asked, frantic for something to drink. Maybe she’d had too much alcohol or maybe not enough water beforehand. Weren’t the stories that you should drink a glass of water with every drink to stave off drunkenness? Yeah, she hadn’t done that at all. There had been wine with dinner, and mixed cocktails afterward, and a combination of the two at the club and…
Yeah
, that was it. She was clearly very, very drunk.
“You’re not, but if you’d like some water, I can get some for you.”
There it was; he’d answered a question she hadn’t thought she’d asked. Or in this case, she’d known she hadn’t asked it. “Who are you?”
“Dante Ford,” he said easily. Too easily; there was something she was missing here, something very important.
“What are you, then?’ she asked quietly.
Bingo! She’d hit on something there. His eyes widened for just a moment, but she’d been staring at him so intently that she hadn’t missed that look.
“Yours for the taking,” he told her, opening his arms up. That wasn’t the entirety of the answer, but it was enough for now. It had to be enough for now, because if she didn’t sooth the shockwaves of desire running through her body, she was done for.
“And what does that mean?” she asked, hating the way her voice sounded so breathless and needy.
“Exactly what it sounds like it means. One night only or longer if you like. Shouldn’t you try the black dress on for size before settling for a lifetime with a holey yet comfortable-enough robe that could fall apart in a couple of years? It may convince you that the robe was at the end of its life.”
She hated that he was right, but she understood where he was coming from. “I want to try on the dress.”
“Good answer,” he whispered. He flicked a switch and music started playing, something romantic and jazzy she hadn’t heard before. She glanced over to the couch and saw a boom box there. Nice touch, hotel! Or was this Dante’s choice? Somehow she had a feeling it was more of the latter and less of the former.
“Dance with me,” he said quietly, reaching for her hand. She slipped hers into his much larger one and he pulled her close, one hand resting on her lower back. She leaned in, accepting his embrace, her body already out of control. She wanted to plaster herself to his chest, to devour him inside and out, to merge to…