Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 30269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
He turns to me then, fingers moving to his cuff to straighten a button that’s already straight. “I’d like to offer a Novalee Van Buren exclusive.”
“You’re familiar with my work?”
“Alejandro Von Jean won’t stop speaking of it.” His mouth hints at a smile. “He called your finale gown the most fearless piece on the runway. He’s been repeating it to half of Los Angeles since he met you at the after party.”
For a breath I’m not in the studio anymore. I’m alone in that foyer, smarting over a redhead at the bar and accepting a glass of champagne I should have known better than to take.
Then the flashback vanishes, and I land in the here and now again, though a chill has attached itself to me. I fold my arms to ward off the goose bumps breaking out on my skin.
“I’ve said the wrong thing.” Understanding reaches him a beat too late. “It’s something I do a lot.” He stares at the mannequin and the off-white scraps of fabric scattered on the floor. “I only meant to speak of your work.”
I should tell him it’s fine, but my throat won’t cooperate.
Neither will his, apparently. He clears it and takes a step back. “Landon sent me your lookbook. Three of his contacts already forwarded it to buyers in London. You’re gaining attention, and something like this could open real doors for you.”
He thinks my work deserves space alongside established houses. In the same room. Under the same lights.
Wow.
“I’m flattered. Truly. I didn’t realize anyone outside my team was paying attention.”
“I pay attention to anything that helps the kids. And I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you’d be brilliant at it. I know you’ll deliver.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, wishing I was as certain as he seems to be. Greta and the production crew return next week, my mornings belong to my instructor through the end of the month, and my wedding gown still doesn’t have a final design.
Taking on an exclusive piece for his foundation should be out of the question.
But I can’t say no.
It’s for a good cause, and I can’t deny the appeal of that kind of exposure. Besides…
I need this.
If I work myself to distraction, then I won’t have time to count the days until Sebastian returns. Right now, that feels like an eternity.
I uncross my arms and meet him with the formality he seems most comfortable in. “I’d be honored to collaborate with you, Mr. Alexander.”
His chin dips. “I’ll have the brief sent to your team first thing next week.” Biting his lip, he sweeps his attention around the room one last time. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work.”
Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I reach for my sketchbook, but instead of opening it, I pull a fresh sheet from the drawer underneath the drafting table.
A gown takes shape in experimental strokes. Sapphire silk, cut on the bias so it moves like water. One shoulder bare. The hem slanting from knee to floor in a single wave. I shade in silver beadwork where it pools.
The lines come faster—so fast and effortless that I set the pencil down to find a couple of hours have snuck by. The design is far from finished, but it’s a solid start.
Which brings me back to the sketchbook full of ideas that never quite hit the mark. This time, when I open to the last page, plumeria and formfitting satin pour from my pencil.
8
Later that night, I’m sprawled across the bed with the door to my suite shut, sheets kicked aside. The air runs a few degrees cold, but I don’t mind, because my skin is hot to the touch.
And my hand is moving fast between my legs.
My imagination paints Sebastian crouched over me, his mouth closing over one tight nipple, teeth gently tugging, taunting with the promise of a pinch.
Just like Oliver’s clamps.
My eyes fly open, and my heart beats a familiar, guilty rhythm.
Now is not the time to be thinking about him.
Or that closed door and how it feels wrong.
Impersonal.
Splaying my thighs, I renew my efforts. Middle finger firm on my clit, rubbing in tight circles, pace increasing until my toes want to curl.
I turn my thoughts to Sebastian moving inside me, his lips on mine, our fingers locked, every hard inch of him filling me.
Especially in the shower.
God, he felt good.
I’m hot and tingly just thinking about it. My heart seems to expand in my chest, making enough room to hold on to the night we spent together, to feel every memory.
My back arches, breasts yearning for warm, sweaty skin but finding cool air instead.
Which only takes me back to metal teeth latching on to my nipples.
My attention drifts to the door out of habit.
It needs to be open.
An urge I can’t explain propels me to my feet. I cross to the door, twist the knob, and leave it cracked. The nightlight in the hall casts a thin band of warm illumination across the threshold, reaching the rumpled blankets waiting for me.