“And such good timing.” Sally beamed. “I have your dress right here.” The brown-haired woman grabbed a bright pink plastic-wrapped hanger off a rack behind the desk. “It will be a preview of the wedding!”
Sally sighed as an employee called her name from the back of the store. “Do not leave without me seeing how that dress fits,” she warned before disappearing down a narrow hallway and leaving Evie holding the bag.
The plastic crinkled as she pressed the dress to her stomach, hoping to calm the riot of nerves dancing inside. “So...I would have thought you’d have a custom-made tuxedo on hand.”
“Oh, I do, but Alexa wanted all the groomsmen to match.”
Evie swallowed a snort. It wasn’t going to happen. No way would the other men in the bridal party look anywhere near as good in their tuxes as Griffin did in his.
“So,” he said, tilting his head toward the dressing room. “It’s all yours.”
Evie tightened her grip on the garment bag as her nerves took another turn, this time nose-diving in a sickening spiral. Ever since her broken engagement, the mere thought of weddings and walking down the aisle made her sick to her stomach.
Every borrowed, blue, old and new tradition slapped at her in reminders of how foolish she’d been, how readily and gullibly she’d fallen for all of Eric’s lies. Little wonder she’d put off coming to the bridal shop filled with promises of forever that were as substantial as the fragile lace and strings of seed pearls holding them all together.
But she wasn’t about to let tuxedo-wearing Griffin James know she was freaked out by formal wear. Marching across the small shop, she swept the pink curtain aside and stepped inside the dressing room. She fought a groan at the mirrored walls, reflecting every possible angle back at her.
“How’s it going in there?”
Evie gritted her teeth at the cheery sound of Griffin’s voice on the other side of the curtain. A curtain she had to remind herself that he could not see through. So why did slipping out of her sensible shoes and sliding her slacks down her legs make her feel like she was stripping in front of him?
“You know, you really don’t have to wait around for this.”
“Oh, come on, I showed you mine...” Now a seductive note entered his voice, and Evie had to stop herself from reaching for the material pooling around her ankles and covering up once more. Because while Griffin might not have X-ray vision, she had the feeling he still somehow knew exactly how rattled she was by the whole experience.
“Stepping out of my bathroom in nothing but a towel was your idea. Not mine.”
His husky laughter reverberated through the shop, and Evie was surprised the deep, sexy sound wave didn’t have the curtain at her back trembling on its metal hooks.
“I was talking about you seeing me in my tux. But anytime you want to show me more—or should I say less?—than you in that bridesmaid’s dress, just say the word, sweetheart.”
Evie’s muffled curse as she stripped her sweater over her head had him laughing once more.
“Not the word I was expecting.”
“Honestly, you are impossible. Do you ever take anything seriously?”
“I am completely serious about you.”
Evie rolled her eyes at her own reflection. Another flirtatious response. Had she expected something more? Just try on the dress and get this over with. She whisked the zipper down the garment bag and froze.
Alexa had sent pictures of the style she had in mind several weeks ago. Other than providing Sally with her measurements, Evie had given the sleeveless icy-blue sheath little thought. Like any other bridesmaid’s dress, it would be worn once and then forgotten.
So what was it now about the liquid shimmer of satin that had her reaching out and carefully withdrawing the long skirt from the bag? Why was her breath catching at the intricate beauty of the seed pearls and lace embellishing the neckline? Why did the thought of slipping the garment over her head have her heart racing in anticipation?
“Evie? You do know you have to come out sometime, don’t you?”
Swallowing hard, she slid the bodice from the padded hanger. Yes, she knew she would have to step outside the dressing room at some point. And that made all the difference. Not that she would be wearing the dress...but who she would be wearing it for.
The satin slid like a whisper over her skin—a brush against her breasts, belly and thighs. She could tell immediately that the dress would fit like a dream—the straight skirt highlighting her height and the fitted bodice adding a bit of lift to her somewhat meager cleavage.
Evie twisted her arms behind her only to blow out a frustrated breath when the zipper stopped midway up her back. She tried reaching up over her shoulder to grasp the tiny tab, but still no go.
Pulling the zipper down didn’t work, either. What were the odds that she, of all people, would be stuck wearing a bridesmaid’s dress for the rest of her life?
“Seriously?” she huffed, loud enough, evidently, for Griffin to overhear.
“Having trouble in there?”
“Is Sally back yet?”
“Nope. It’s just me out here. Why? What’s wrong?”
“The zipper’s stuck.”
Griffin was silent for a moment before his chuckle danced down her bare back. “Lucky for you, I do have some experience with stubborn zippers.”
“No doubt. But I’m sure that experience has more to do with undressing than dressing women.” Evie tugged at the zipper again, but other than feeling like she was about to dislocate her shoulder, she had no more success. “I give up. Can you—”
Before she could finish her request for Griffin to track down the seamstress, the curtain behind her parted. Only it wasn’t Sally who stepped through. “Griffin! What are you doing?”
His eyebrow rose as he met her gaze in one of the many mirrors. “You said you needed help.”
“Not from you!” She whirled to face him, the loose bodice clutched to her chest. The tiny dressing room was cramped to start with. Griffin’s masculine presence further shrank the space...until the deep breath she took had the backs of her knuckles brushing against the starched shirtfront of his tuxedo. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Come now, Evie, haven’t you noticed yet that rescuing damsels in distress is something of a habit of mine?”
“I’m not a damsel. And I’m not distressed. I’m just—”
“Undressed?” At her narrowed glare, he lifted a hand and spun his index finger in a circle. “Turn around.”
Evie hesitated a moment before giving him her back. “Only so I can get this over with.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Evie.”
She sucked in a quick breath at the brush of his fingers against her spine. “Be careful,” she warned, her voice more of a breathless whisper than strident command. “You don’t want to snag the material.”
“I told you before, I take very good care of the fine things in my hands.”
As promised, the zipper responded to his nimble touch, sliding into place with ease. It should have been her cue to exhale, but with Griffin standing so close, with his image—their images—reflected all around her, she forgot how to breathe. Instead of stepping back now that the job was done, he moved even closer. They stared at each other in the mirror—the emotional intensity in that connection leaving her feeling as exposed as if he’d walked in on her naked—and yet she couldn’t look away.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her body closer to the heat and strength of his. Her legs trembled and her head tipped back against his shoulder. All that from the wonderful feel of his mouth drifting to the side of her neck.
“Griffin.”
His name was little more than a gasp and his answer little more than a challenging grin. “Yes, Evie?”
Oh, the heck with it.
Stiffening what was left
of her spine, she met his challenge with one of her own. “There’s no one watching, so why don’t you kiss me already?”
“All you had to do was ask.”
Evie was barely aware of turning in his arms, but she must have because the next thing she knew, those same talented hands were cupping her face as he lowered his mouth to hers. The desire she’d been denying since Griffin had first shown up at the hotel flared into something out of control. She clutched at his shoulders, desperate to get closer, the seed pearls and beadwork on her bodice scraping against the studs on his shirtfront. Her curves met the hardened planes and angles of his masculine form—softening, conforming, blending with a sense of perfection that made it almost impossible to think, to remember...
And Evie needed to think. She had a plan, but in that moment, in his arms, nothing mattered beyond Griffin and the incredible, wonderful way he made her feel.
Her head fell back, her muscles melting under the heat of his kiss as his lips trailed down her throat. Her eyelids fluttered, and she froze as she caught sight of the woman in the mirror, her pupils dark with arousal, a flush of passion staining her skin. This was a reckless woman Evie didn’t recognize. Her hands tensed at Griffin’s shoulders, but she didn’t even need to apply any pressure before he was pulling away.
That he could read her so well, so easily, left Evie feeling even more vulnerable. She stared at Griffin’s bow tie, still perfectly straight and perfectly tied while she felt thoroughly undone and out of sorts. Any moment now, Griffin would make some teasing comment that would prove how unaffected he was.
But then she noticed the strong, tanned column of his neck move as he swallowed hard. The ragged, out-of-control breathing wasn’t only her own. When she did finally raise her eyes to Griffin’s, she didn’t need all the mirrors surrounding them to see the molten desire reflected back to her in his golden gaze.
“Tell me, Evie—” his voice deepened on her name, the sound thrumming like resonant bass notes until she could feel the vibrations straight down to her bones “—does this still feel pretend to you?”
* * *
As she sat in her office the next morning, romance was the last thing Evie wanted to think about. She couldn’t close her eyes without reliving the sensation of Griffin’s lips against hers. Bad enough her simple, straightforward plan was rapidly unraveling in her fingers. Worse was the way she’d practically come apart in his arms.
Does this still feel pretend to you?
Pretend? No, but certainly not real, either. A gorgeous man standing behind her in a tuxedo, his lips brushing her cheek as he whispered in her ear? That was all in the wonderful realm of fantasy, the best kind of daydream... As if Evie possessed the kind of imagination to come up with something so deliciously good.
But the momentary distraction only proved she needed to focus more than ever on the hotel and on the job she had to do. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten the purpose of the meeting she had scheduled with her aunt, Trisha and Aaron Braun, the hotel’s head chef.
“It’s going to be the most romantic New Year’s Eve Ball ever!” Trisha exclaimed as she hugged her tablet to her chest.
“That is the idea, isn’t it?” Her aunt beamed. “Right, Evie?”
“Right. It’s all about the romance,” Evie muttered. They’d already spent the first half of the meeting going over details for the Holly and Vine event the following night before moving on to the upcoming gala. “Do you have the final numbers from the food vendors?”
“Because nothing says romance more than invoices from the local butcher shop,” her aunt said with a sigh.
Evie winced, recognizing her business-first mistake too late, but was saved from making excuses when Trisha muttered, “I would if someone ever finalized the menu.”
With that, the tall redhead shot the fourth member of the group gathered in Evie’s office a withering look. Their brilliant and temperamental chef glared back. “My contact hasn’t been able to guarantee he’d have the mushrooms I need for the risotto,” Aaron said. “I can’t put mushroom risotto on the menu if I can’t get mushrooms.”
Trisha threw up a hand. “And the whole state of California is...out of mushrooms?”
“Not just any mushrooms will do,” the dark-haired chef stressed.
“Oh, right. Because these are magic mushrooms.”
Evie barely withheld an annoyed sigh. Ever since they’d hired the new chef a few months back, the two had been at odds. Trisha was responsible for their promotions and social media, and the content on the hotel’s culinary offerings was frequently lacking thanks to Aaron’s refusal to pin down an exact menu.
“You’re right. The way I prepare them is pretty magical!”
Trisha shot back a quick response, and it took everything inside Evie not to snap at both of them. But she had to show her aunt she could manage Hillcrest’s personnel as easily as she could manage its finances. If only she didn’t want to knock their heads together!
“If you tried it, you’d change your mind,” Aaron was arguing, but Trisha gave a short laugh.
“Doubt it. I hate mushrooms. All mushrooms.”
“Oh, well, in that case, let me revise my entire menu based on the tastes of a woman who thinks a proper meal is dehydrated noodles microwaved in a foam cup!”
“I like those noodles. Besides,” Trisha added, tossing her hair back defiantly, “what do you care what I eat for lunch, anyway?”
Aaron didn’t answer, but Evie heard a response loud and clear. I make it a habit to observe the eating habits of a woman I’m interested in.
Was it possible? Was their fighting something more than two employees who couldn’t get along? Studying the couple, Evie started to wonder. The flush on Trisha’s cheeks, the darkening of Aaron’s eyes, were those telltale signs of awareness rather than anger?
Last week, when the two were arguing over Aaron’s insistence that something was wrong with the state-of-the-art refrigerator, the thought had never crossed her mind. But now...
“Look, you two,” she interrupted, “that’s a great idea.”
They stopped fighting long enough to turn to her in confusion. “What is?”
“To do a test run of the meal,” Evie said, as if that was what the two employees had been discussing all along. “Aaron, you can pull out all the stops and see where things go from there.”
Silence fell for a tense moment as the two stared at each other across her office. “If I can get the mushrooms,” Aaron clarified.
Trisha smiled sweetly. “They sell them in cans now, you know? Want me to pick some up for you the next time I’m shopping for noodle soup?”
“Once you taste my risotto,” the chef asserted, “you’ll change your mind.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
Even though the challenge seemed to reverberate in the air between them, at least now there was something they agreed on. After another few minutes of far more productive discussion, the four of them were able to decide on the potential menu.
“You handled that well,” her aunt complimented Evie as they walked out of her office sometime later.
Evie warmed at the praise. She’d hold hands and sing “Kumbaya” if that was what it would take to prove herself to her aunt. “Thanks. I have a feeling that something more than mushrooms is going on between the two of them.”
“And you don’t disapprove?”
Evie started. “Should I?” A few weeks ago, she most certainly would have. An on-the-job romance was never a good idea. Trisha had worked at the hotel for years and knew the ins and outs better than anyone except for her aunt, and Aaron was an amazing chef. If Hillcrest lost either of them—crap! What had she been thinking, encouraging the two of them to get together for a romantic taste-test dinner? “I should, shouldn’t I? With the way the two of them fight now, when they’re not dating, what’s it going to be like if they break
up?”
“And what makes you so sure that’s what will happen?” Eyeing her closely, her aunt said, “You know, a long time ago, I felt like I had to make a choice between pursuing my career and following my heart.”
“You chose Hillcrest House,” Evie stated with certainty.
“I did, and I was always sure I’d made the right choice, but recently I’ve had time to rethink that decision.” Reaching up, Evelyn fingered the flyaway ends of undyed hair, her attention locked in a distant past. Then, with a quick shake of her head, she gave a short laugh. “Maybe Trisha and Aaron will make it work. Have a whirlwind courtship and fall in love right here at Hillcrest House. You know,” her aunt said as she pinned Evie with a look, “just like you and Griffin.”
Chapter Eight
“Right.” Too stunned by her aunt’s revelation, Evie’s attempt at an easy, breezy agreement sounded more like she was drowning in quicksand. “Just like me and Griffin.”
Her aunt placed a hand on her arm. “Is everything all right between the two of you?” For all her casual clothes and relaxed hairstyle, her aunt was as sharp as ever, and Evie knew.
She was blowing this.
She had the perfect man willing to play her perfect boyfriend, and she was blowing it. Not because her aunt didn’t believe it, but because Evie wasn’t letting herself believe it. Her aunt would never have been fooled into thinking a man like Wade would be enough to make Evie forget about work, but a man like Griffin James? He was enough to make Evie forget her name, her birthday, where she lived and who she was, as he had so thoroughly and seductively proved in the bridal shop dressing room.
Does this still feel pretend to you?
And the truth was, only by pretending that the attraction, the desire, the emotion weren’t real did Evie have any hope of protecting herself from the reckless, out-of-control way he made her feel.
Their Yuletide Promise Page 8
