Want You to Want Me

by Lorelei James

  “So we’re looking for a singular outfit with wow factor and multiple pieces.”

  “Yes. However, this doesn’t need to be a mix-and-match situation. The interview clothing is the priority. After that we should focus on an outfit that plays up camera readiness, as well as rinkside commentary and studio interviews, and a cocktail dress.”

  Q tapped his chin as he studied her. “Gut instinct is to put her in the cranberry color palette. Mulberry is too muddy for her complexion, yet, I’m not ruling out the right hue of plum.”

  Circling Gabi, I felt her eyes watching me in the mirror as I contemplated the shape of her body. “Nothing boxy on the top. I’d suggest skipping the traditional suit jacket and skirt set.”

  “Agreed.” Q held a piece of white cashmere next to her face. “White isn’t flattering to her coloring.”

  “Is that bad?” she asked.

  “No, sweetheart, it just means we’ll have to substitute warmer tones. And thankfully, this time of year there’s an excess of color.” Q looked to me. “Ready?”

  “Let’s do it.” I smiled at Gabi. “Time to be a walking clothes rack.”

  “You’re making me come with you?”

  We both gave her a stern look.

  “Fine. But are you letting me choose any items? Or am I not allowed to pick anything?”

  “Fair question. Unless a piece we choose has some kind of violent trigger reaction for you, you don’t get to nix anything before you try it on,” Q said.

  “Understood.”

  Q looped his arm through hers. “Don’t look like we’re dragging you to the gallows, darling.”

  “I’ll try. But no promises.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Two hours and five stops later we were back in the design showroom.

  Q shooed us away as he grouped the items together to create his magic.

  Gabi paced the perimeter of the room. Finally she said, “How often do you do things like this?”

  “You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought to my stylist,” I replied.

  Her eyes met mine. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “That is flattering. But I guess my question wasn’t clear. I meant how many times a year do you meet with Q?”

  “Four. During each change of seasons.”

  “Do you shop on your own? Like . . . hey, I feel like hitting the mall today for some new jeans. Or does he procure your entire wardrobe?”

  “The truth is, I don’t enjoy shopping. My style would be much different if I had to find pieces at menswear stores. I’m aware how fortunate I am to be able to outsource that task. Q has full access to my closet. Before we meet, he goes through my clothes and pulls the pieces that have outlived their usefulness or are out of style. Then he finds replacement pieces or full outfits and I try them on to check fit, et cetera. I choose what to keep and he returns what I don’t buy. All my suits, and shirts for those suits, are custom tailored, which is different than ready-to-wear, because creating a look from scratch takes more time.”

  “What happens to your old clothes?”

  “Higher-end pieces he consigns with a boutique group that operates all over the U.S. The rest are donated.”

  Gabi stared at me.

  “What?”

  “This is just a whole other level. I mean, I work for Jax and I can be at ease with him now and think of him as just Jax, not THE Jaxson ‘Stonewall’ Lund. I know he has money, but besides his penthouse apartment and his various businesses, I don’t see his wealth. But seeing you with Q? That’s when it sinks in that you are part of one of the wealthiest families in the country. This is normal for you. It won’t ever not be normal for you.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. Her tone hadn’t been accusatory or laden with jealousy. Either of those attitudes I could deal with. What had thrown me? Was it the sense that this was the first time she’d had to remind herself today that she’d stepped foot into my world, and that made her see me in yet another light? And she’d yet to decide whether that was a favorable light.

  Q returned with clothes draped over his arm. “All right, Gabriella. Into the dressing room with you.”

  “I’m fine stripping where I stand.”

  What the actual fuck? Was this her way of poking me for asking earlier if Q wanted her to strip?

  That even caught Q off guard. “I assumed—”

  “Let’s clear those assumptions up. Does this place have walk-in clientele?”

  “No. The side entrance you two initially used has been locked.” He sent me a reprimanding look.

  “Then we’re good. It’d be a waste of time for me to troop into the dressing room, get dressed, troop back out here so Nolan can weigh in, then return to the dressing room out of some false sense of modesty. I’ve been on hockey teams since I was eight years old. The one issue I don’t have is being undressed in semipublic. Since I won’t be getting totally naked at any point, then I don’t have to worry about either of you leering at my lady bits. Doing all of the outfit changes right here will save a ton of time. I know you’re both very busy men and I’ve already wreaked havoc on your schedules today. So let’s do this.” She paused. “Oh, and by staying out here I have the added benefit of hearing firsthand anything good, bad or indifferent about how I look and not whispered behind my back.”

  Guilt prodded me but I managed no reaction.

  Q clapped his hands. “Excellent plan. Nolan, you take the chair on the right.”

  Turning, I walked to the sitting area as she started to peel her leggings down her legs. After adjusting the chair, I plopped onto the cushy seat. Now I had a much clearer line of sight.

  And what a sight it was.

  Holy shit. I’d known Gabi had curves; I just hadn’t known they were like that.

  Ka-fucking-pow curves that knocked my damn brain offline.

  Muscled quads. Delineated calves. Her powerhouse shoulders, carved biceps and triceps rippled as she tossed the sweater she’d just removed onto the floor.

  Thankfully Gabi was chattering to Q, which meant she couldn’t see that my focus had gotten stuck on the bands of black lace underwear that hugged those firm, round cheeks. When I looked away, my gaze snagged on the three-way mirror that showcased the front of her body. The swell of her hips. The flat plane of her stomach, which boasted a six-pack. And those lush breasts.

  Not in competition form anymore, my ass. This woman had no competition. I’d never seen a body that equaled hers. Never. And I’d been up close and personal with my fair share of scantily clad females.

  “Right, Nolan?”

  I glanced up, guiltily apparently, because Q harrumphed.

  “Were you even listening?”

  “No, I wasn’t aware I was part of the conversation.”

  He started to chew me out further, but something stopped him and he spoke to Gabi. “Let’s start from the top. I’ll hand you the pieces.”

  Gabi slipped on the first outfit. A short corduroy skirt in cranberry with navy buttons down the center and a lightweight cashmere turtleneck in dark blue.

  “Do I need to put on the tights to get the whole effect?” she asked.

  Q shook his head. “Love this on you. Add a patterned scarf and you’d turn heads. But for your interview—”

  “It’s much too casual,” I supplied.

  “Who picked this one?” she said.

  “I did,” Q admitted. “Some women pull off casualwear as if it’s couture. I needed to see where you landed.”

  Gabi untucked the sweater and yanked it over her head. “Where am I putting the discard pile?”

  “On the chair by Nolan.”

  She’d be strolling over and stripping right next to me? Or she’d strip in front of the mirror and then stroll in her bra and panties right next to me? So either way sh
e’d be half-naked right next to me?

  I should get a freakin’ Oscar if I could pull off unaffected with Gabriella “The Body” Welk whipping clothes on and off within touching distance as if it was no big deal.

  To her credit, she acted as if I wasn’t even there. She removed the outfit, draped it across the back of the chair and moved to stand next to Q.

  “You know, since I want to see shoes with these upcoming outfits, maybe you should slip on a pair of nylons.”

  “No problem, but I’m not shimmying into the nylons out here because that is the definition of undignified.”

  “Then you might as well put on the next outfit in the dressing room.” Q bent down and pulled out a shoe box. “You carry these, I’ll grab the clothes.”

  I had to give Gabi credit; she didn’t dawdle. She strolled back out of the dressing room and stopped in front of the three-way mirror.

  The expression on her face? Stunned.

  “What?” I said. “You don’t like it?”

  “No. I love it. That’s why I’m so surprised. I never would’ve picked this for myself.”

  I’d chosen these clothes for her. A pair of wide-legged gray pants that skimmed her ankles. The fabric tied at the waist gave the illusion of a skirt until the side slits revealed her legs. Subtle, sexy and sleek, especially paired with the simple cream-colored lace blouse that boasted a keyhole neckline and sheer chiffon sleeves. The ensemble was tied together with black-and-cream-checked cloth pumps, the toes and heels of the shoes highlighted with gray suede.

  “Wowza,” Q said. “That one is definitely a contender.”

  “I think so too.”

  Gabi spun around with the grace of a runway fashion model. “Thank you, Nolan.”

  “You’re welcome. I suspected it’d be a fantastic look on you.”

  “I’m beginning to suspect our Gabriella will look fantastic in everything,” Q gushed as he grabbed outfit three and thrust it at her.

  “How many outfits have you assembled for her?”

  “Twelve. More if I can mix and match. Why?”

  Because seeing her nearly naked every five minutes is making me hard. “I just wondered if you planned on working through lunch or if we were taking a break.”

  “How about we decide after outfit six?”

  “Perfect.”

  Gabi made a sound and I refocused on her, seeing her totally bewildered by the shirt she had on. “This is weird. Is it supposed to be tucked in? Or left out?”

  “Both. That is what we call a half tuck.” Q took the bottom of the shirt hem and tucked it neatly inside her ankle-length pants the color of tobacco. “Voila. Now you’re on trend.” Then he circled her with a critical eye. “Love the windowpane pattern and fit of this blouse, but it might be better to replace the shirt with a sweater in the same pattern.” He snapped his fingers. “If we switched these slim-cut pants to looser velvet pants in the toasted-chestnut color and added fur-lined boots, she’d be ready to rock rinkside interviews.”

  “Sounds doable, but I need to see all of it on her, not just a description of it.”

  While Q muttered and slid hangers on the rack, Gabi stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that.

  I couldn’t look away.

  Huskily she whispered, “You like?”

  “Very much. But you’re supposed to be taking it off.”

  Keeping her eyes on mine, she slowly undid her blouse.

  One.

  Fucking.

  Button.

  At.

  A.

  Time.

  I ground my teeth and said, “Gabriella.”

  Her little smirk indicated she liked torturing me.

  My balls were sweating by the time she sauntered past me to drape the shirt over the clothes rack.

  Then she bent over after she’d shimmied the pants down her legs and reached for the sweater Q had mentioned.

  That ass—that goddamn smackable, bitable, perfect ass was right fucking there, just twitching for a sharp nip of my teeth.

  Lund. Get your shit together.

  My thoughts scrolled back to her text from last week, when I’d jokingly called her a pain in my ass and she’d retaliated by threatening to send me a pic of the real pain in her ass, which was a bruise the size of an orange.

  Maybe if I squinted, I could see the mark on her skin through the nylons and those black lace panties. I could offer to kiss it and make it better.

  Then Gabi was nearly nose to nose with me. “Were you really eyeballing my butt, Lund?”

  “You were shaking it in my face,” I said smoothly. “Where else was I supposed to look?” I gave her a tiny head-butt and whispered, “Besides, you started it, Miss Striptease.”

  “Fine. I’ll behave if you will.”

  Not a chance, sweetheart.

  “That ship has officially sailed for us.” My eyes searched hers. “Or am I wrong?”

  “No. But I’m not having this convo with you when I’m half-naked.” Gabi snagged the pants from Q and she had to hop to get them up over her muscular thighs.

  Hopping caused her breasts to bounce beautifully, sexily—even when she wasn’t trying to be sexy.

  Well, at least you aren’t staring at her ass anymore.

  Not that I could point that out as a victory.

  She slipped the sweater on and my focus returned to styling her.

  “Nope. I don’t like that, too bulky. Can’t see her shape at all. If we paired the windowpane shirt with that longer open-cut shearling vest and those pants, still keeping with the half-tuck style on the shirt, she’d throw off a professional-chic boho vibe.”

  “Marvelous idea, Nolan.”

  Gabi huffed.

  I withheld a snicker. She had stuck to the parameters by not commenting on the outfit when it was obvious—maybe only to me—she didn’t want to try it on.

  But she did put it on without complaint.

  And she looked freakin’ fantastic.

  I knew it, she knew it. She said, “This goes in the yes pile for sure. Can I take this off now?”

  “Yes,” Q said to her. “This one next. I need to see it on before we can discuss shoe and accessories options.” He leaned in and whispered to her.

  A long sigh. “I’ll get dressed in there and take the shoes in with me. If you don’t like the pair I choose, I’ll switch.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She plucked up two boxes of shoes and stuck her tongue out at me before she disappeared.

  Normally Q and I chatted during our appointments, but it seemed we both had other things on our minds.

  The instant Gabi rounded the corner, before she said a single word, I knew.

  “This outfit,” she nearly shouted to the rafters. “This is it. From the moment I tried it on I felt confident. Like me . . . a better-dressed me, to be sure, but it doesn’t feel as if I’m playing a role.”

  Q had kept the ensemble he’d chosen a surprise. An olive-green pantsuit, sleeveless, cut fairly low, ruched at the waist with a wide belt. The style of the trouser section of the pantsuit wasn’t cut slim or wide, but a flowing cut, somewhere in between. A silky gold camisole beneath the top gave a sensuous movement to her breasts, so I knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. She carried a brown leather bomber-style jacket, but even without Gabi wearing it I could tell it was a fitted cut. On her feet were suede brown fringed booties that matched the belt.

  “Gabi. Darling. That is perfect. Perfect,” Q declared. “I’ve got just the purse for that and we’ll do understated gold-toned accessories.”

  “Okay.” She gave Q an unsure glance. “You are writing all of this down for me, right? Which pieces go together? Because I’ll get this stuff home and I won’t remember.”

  “Of course.”

  “What’s left to t
ry on?”

  Q cocked his head as if he didn’t understand. Then he did the Vanna White sweeping gesture with, “All of this.”

  The look on her face . . . I knew we’d lost her. Personally, I’d stick it out until I’d exhausted all options, but Gabi wasn’t like me.

  I pushed to my feet. “Frankly, Gabriella’s chosen what she needs.”

  The relief in her eyes made me feel like I’d slayed a dragon for her.

  “With the exception of a dinner dress.” I walked over to the rack, plucking off the cerulean-blue cocktail dress I’d chosen for her, and moved to stand in front of her. “Try this one and I promise we’re done.”

  She nodded and sidestepped me.

  But Q stopped her to hand over a box of shoes. “That dress is plainer than I’d pick, so your shoes have to make a statement.”

  Miss “I Can Strip Naked in Front of Anyone” had gotten more modest during the fashion show-and-tell—which I found fascinating as I watched her duck into the dressing area.

  As soon as she was gone Q glared at me.

  “What?”

  “She—”

  “Doesn’t enjoy this,” I supplied. “Not like I do.”

  That’s when I realized I’d played right into his hands.

  Q smirked. “If she’s finished and your day is cleared for a few more hours, we have time to look at spring styles. Sam sent me your appearance schedule for the month. The only event I’m concerned with is the Grant Foundation Gala. Not black tie, but it will require a new suit. The fabric I’ve chosen is this gorgeous . . .”

  Right then Gabi sashayed past us.

  Speaking of gorgeous. The woman was stunning. The harsh line of the dress left her right shoulder bare as it swept up into an open, diagonal slash from between her breasts to the left side, revealing a peek of her skin. The skintight cut of the fabric showcased her physique—from those broad shoulders and muscular arms down to the nipped-in waist and the flare of her hips, ending right below her knees. The pumps she wore were a shade of blue darker than the dress, with silver studs outlining the sole and smaller rhinestones creating a starburst effect on the toes. The stiletto heel was shiny silver.