by Ally Blake
Paige figured she did, and then some. And gossiping like this felt so good, like the old days. ‘So what do you want to know?’
‘Do you have actual conversations in between bouts of athletic lust?’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes we don’t want to waste our breath.’
‘Phew.’ Mae rested her elbow on the table and her chin on her upturned palm. ‘Do you catch yourself daydreaming about him? About his belly button, the whirl of hair behind his right ear, the way his eyes go all dark and dreamy when he sees you?’
Paige raised an eyebrow. ‘Clearly you do.’
‘Ha! So are you seeing anyone else?’
‘No,’ Paige answered before she’d even noticed Mae’s change of tack, or the knowing gleam in her eye. Dammit.
‘Do you want to?’ Mae asked.
Paige sat up straighter. ‘Where’s Clint?’
‘At the bar.’
‘Good, I need another drink.’
‘I’ll bet you do.’ Mae gave Paige’s foot a quick nudge under the table. ‘I know you, Paige. You are doing your absolute all to avoid even considering it, but I’m living proof that happily ever afters can happen, even to those who don’t believe in them. And that’s the last I’ll say about that.’
Mae mimed zipping her mouth shut tight as Clint returned with a beer for himself, another pink drink for Mae, and a Midori Splice for Paige.
‘You looked like you might need it,’ he said, before he slumped back onto his stool and closed his eyes as if he was seriously about to have a nap right there in the middle of the bar.
Paige should have thanked her lucky stars that Clint’s arrival had saved her from answering any more of Mae’s questions. But watching Mae’s eyes constantly swerving back to her fiancé, her finger running distractedly across the rim of her cocktail glass, her cheeks warm and pink, a small smile curving at her mouth, Paige felt as if she was witnessing something so intimate she ought to look away.
But she found she couldn’t.
Did Mae really believe they could love each other through everything? Through fights and ambivalence? Through having kids and demanding jobs? Through the times they were in each other’s pockets every minute of the day and the times they spent apart? Through the times they’d inevitably hurt one another in moments of boredom, exhaustion, self-absorption?
Her parents hadn’t. Not even close. For them it had simply been too hard. So Paige just couldn’t make herself believe. Even when Clint opened one eye and gave Mae a warm lazy smile, and it was like being this close to the real thing Paige could almost touch it.
She took a hard gulp of her cocktail, barely tasting it as her mind shifted to the one secret she hadn’t dared share with Mae, the secret she’d refused to even admit to herself until that quiet moment in the noisy bar.
She felt things for Gabe. Soft, gentle, warm things.
She didn’t believe it would last. She didn’t believe it was about anything other than chemistry. But it terrified her to the soles of her boots.
In the end Gabe was gone a little over a week.
Paige was thrilled at how much she got done with all that extra time! She’d done her tax. She’d rearranged her lounge-room, twice. Made her way through every level of Angry Birds. Caught up with Mae, and Clint, another two times. And she’d thrown herself into work with a gusto she hadn’t felt for months, shining up her proposal to shoot the summer catalogue in Brazil until the thing about glowed.
Time apart had been a good thing for sure. She was in a good place. Sure again about what she was doing. And that she could handle it. Yet there was no denying the nerves that skittered through her belly the morning of the Monday he was due back.
She donned the new black lacy underwear she’d bought specially, then practically skipped into her walk-in robe to get dressed for the day and—
Instead of reaching for the work outfit she’d hung out the night before, her hand went to the white garment bag poking out from the deepest darkest corner of the cupboard and before she could stop herself she’d unzipped the bag containing her secret wedding dress with a rush.
The moment the weight of the daring concoction of chiffon, pearls, and lace filled her hands, something flipped a switch inside her and she had rough-housed the gown over her head. The satiny lining slid over her curves, cool and soft against her bare skin, then the hem dropped with a gentle swoosh to float over her bare toes. Her fingers shook as she guided the zip up her back until it stopped just below her shoulder blades.
Eyes closed, knees trembling, she turned to face the mirror behind her wardrobe door. She hoped desperately the thing swam on her, or the colour made her look jaundiced, or that she looked as if she belonged on the top of a toilet-paper roll like the doll her mum had in her downstairs bathroom.
‘It’s just a dress,’ she whispered, her voice echoing in the cosy space. Yet when she opened her eyes it was to see herself through a sheen of tears.
Was this how Mae felt when she tried hers on? Beautiful, and special, and magical, and romantic, and hopeful? She didn’t know, because she’d never asked. It was always Mae who brought up the wedding. Mae who came over to her place with bridal magazines. Mae who booked meetings with caterers and bands. Mae who had to work so hard to get Paige to even pretend to sound enthused.
Mae had motivation. Mae had found the thing they’d spent so many years convincing one another didn’t exist. A man to trust. A man to hold. A man to love.
As if she were having an out-of-body experience, Paige watched her reflection with a feeling of detachment as a single tear slid down her cheek. And then everything came into such sharp focus she actually gasped.
Paige knew the moment it had happened. The moment her work had ceased to satisfy her. The moment she’d stopped dating. The moment her life had lurched out of her tightly held control.
It had happened with the first flash of Mae’s pretty little solitaire as Mae had giddily told her Clint had proposed. The diamond dazzling her as the sun caught an edge, piercing her right through the middle, tearing every plan, every belief, every comfort she had that she wasn’t alone in believing love wasn’t priority number one.
She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, heat and tears squeezing past them.
What was wrong with her? Her best friend was in love. Getting married. Actually happy. Because of that her world had crumbled?
She’d always thought the hot spot that flared in her stomach whenever she looked at Mae and Clint together was fear for her friend. She’d been kidding herself. It was envy. Deep, torturous, craving certainty that she’d never experience even a tenth of the love and affection they shared. It had run so deep that for months she hadn’t even been able to face going on a date that would only remind her she was destined to be alone.
The tears came so fast she began to sob. And then to choke. And then she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs felt as if they were being squeezed from the inside out. The only way she’d ever breathe again was to get out of the damn dress.
She tugged at the straps, but they dug into her shoulders. She yanked at the deep neckline, but it wouldn’t budge. Her trembling fingers wrenched at the zip at her back and—
She stilled, one foot braced indecorously on an ottoman, her arms doing some crazy pretzel move behind her.
The zip was stuck.
Like something out of a movie, the next hour of her life flashed before her eyes. She had to leave in ten minutes if she had a hope of getting to work on time. And first up that day? The final presentation of her Brazilian proposal.
Determination steeling her, Paige took a breath, sniffed back any remaining threads of self-pity, gripped the zip between unwavering fingers, and tugged.
Nada.
Argh! What was she going to do?
Mae and Clint lived only a couple of suburbs over, but in peak-hour traffic it would take for ever for one of them to get to her. The neighbour next door was in hospital getting a nose job. If she called on Mrs Addable upstairs
her predicament would be all over the building before she even left the apartment.
Maybe she could wear the thing. She could cover most of it up. Her chartreuse beaded cardigan. Her cropped chocolate jacket. Her fringed grey cowboy boots. And accessories. Lots of fabulous accessories. She pictured the conference room: Callie holding court with the fawning assistants, Geoff hovering over the pastry tray trying desperately not to eat one, her assistant Susie looking up at her as if she were the bee’s knees as she waltzed in … wearing a wedding dress.
With a sob Paige gave in and slumped to her back on her bed.
Gabe stood in the ground level foyer of the Botany Building, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. It had been a hell of a week. The two other mobs who’d lined up to hear out the ramblings of a rabble of tech-nerds on nanotechnology applications had been the hardest competitors he’d been up against in an age. He’d been lit by the honest to goodness thrill of the chase, and the flicker of brilliance he’d spent his career chasing felt, if not imminent, then at least possible for the first time in a long time.
And yet Gabe felt unpredictably relieved at being back. The cold didn’t seep into his bones like before. The trundle of trams didn’t give him a twitch. And even the Gothamesque skyline didn’t appear quite so unforgivingly stark. In fact with the morning sun pouring over the jut of skyscrapers, glorious Finders Street train station, and the gleaming, snaking river, the city had looked downright pretty.
Maybe he’d missed his bed, with its him-shaped dent. Or maybe he’d missed what could have been in his bed, all long and warm and languid, a warm smile lighting up her deep blue eyes, her lush pink mouth—
The lift binged.
Gabe discreetly repositioned himself. Whoever might be in the lift didn’t need to see how a week without Paige in his bed had affected him. But without even opening its doors, the lift headed back up without him.
A muscle twitched in his cheek. ‘Now, this I didn’t miss.’
The lift paused on the eighth floor. Paige’s floor. He checked his watch. She might not yet have left for work. He could drop in. Say ‘hi’. Shore up their plans for dinner that night. He actually laughed out loud. As if he’d be able to stop at just that.
No, he needed to get into the office to debrief Nate on the deal. He needed to get back to the piles of paperwork that needing reading before he signed on the dotted line to list BonaVenture on the stock market. So that he could get out there again, back amongst the sharks where he belonged.
And yet as he eyeballed the lift his mind didn’t wander to the big wide world waiting for him. His fingers twitched at the thought of burying themselves in masses of silken blonde hair. His mouth watered as he imagined the sweet taste of soft pink lips. He hardened at the thought of burying himself deep inside a woman who knew how to take him to the brink and right on over the other side.
He checked his watch again. His feet twitched and he stared at the lift, as if eyeballing it would make it come back to him.
Screw it.
Three long strides took him to the door to the stairs; he pushed through and took them two at a time, a surge of adrenalin all but giving him wings. His blood pumping hard through his veins as he got ever closer to number eight.
He reached her floor, jogged to her apartment, and, before he could talk himself out of it, banged on her door with a closed fist, feeling a connection to his caveman ancestors. If he was able to do more than grunt before kissing that heavenly mouth of hers he’d deserve a damn medal.
She was home. The shuffle of bare feet on her polished wood floor brought on a heavy heat in his groin. ‘Paige,’ he called, his voice as gruff as a bear’s. ‘It’s me.’
Then, listen as he might, he heard nothing, not even a breath. He hadn’t imagined it, had he? Conjuring up sounds of her that weren’t even there? He started as the doorknob squeaked and turned in its socket. Then the door opened as if in slow motion.
It had been barely a week since he’d seen her, yet the moment he looked into her beautiful face his heart skipped a beat. He’d heard the expression, but before that moment he’d not known it felt like stepping off the top of a tall building with only a faint hope there’d be a dozen firemen waiting below with a big trampoline.
Paige blinked at him, her gorgeous blue eyes smoky with smudged eyeliner. Her hair was all a tumble. Her skin flushed pink. The woman looked so gorgeously rumpled he throbbed for her, and it took every effort not to throw her over his shoulder and toss her down on the bed and take her before they’d even said hello.
Cleary a glutton for punishment, he slid his gaze down her gorgeous body to find it encased in—
What the—?
He blinked. And again.
Well, he thought as his libido limped into hiding as though it had been kicked where it hurt most, you don’t see that every day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘ARE we a tad overdressed for this time of the morning?’ Gabe asked.
‘What do you think?’ Paige asked, before swallowing so hard the tendons on her neck looked about to snap.
‘I think you’re wearing a wedding dress.’ Even as he said the words a pulse began to beat in his temple. ‘Is it yours?’
After a long second she nodded, her eyes like those of a puppy who’d been kicked. As if she were the one who should be feeling hard done by, not the guy she was sleeping with who’d just come back from a week away to find himself staring down a bride.
Right. Okay. Think. Not an easy thing to do considering he was fighting against the unwieldy mix of raging lust and abject horror wrestling inside him.
‘And you’re wearing it because …’ You’ve been married before? You’re getting married today? You missed me that much …?
Wow. Had everything somehow been leading to this? No matter all the safeguards he’d put in place, had he been outfoxed again? Should he have paid more heed to Hitchcock’s warnings after all? He’d give her a minute to explain. Two at most. And if he wasn’t a hundred and ten per cent thrilled with the answers he was outta there.
‘The zip’s stuck!’ She turned, lifted her hair and flashed him an expanse of beautiful back. And creamy-coloured lace, and pearl looking things and—
Gabe lifted his eyes to the ceiling. ‘That’s not exactly … I meant why do you own a … you know?’
‘Took you long enough to ask.’
Gabe was fairly sure he’d only been at her apartment door for a minute but apparently he’d passed through the looking glass, so who knew? ‘Forgive me if my mind’s working at about thirty per cent velocity, but what the hell are you talking about?’
‘Oh, come on. You knew about the dress.’
Gabe shook his head, hard, hoping it might send him back to the right dimension. ‘What precisely am I meant to know about it?’
‘That it exists. That it’s mine. That I have a wedding dress in my possession.’
‘Paige, I’m on the back foot here, with the dress, and the accusations, and the … dress. But I can honestly, hands down, say, I’ve never seen it before.’
‘The day we met,’ she shot back, eyes flashing, arms crossed beneath her breasts until they loomed above the deep V of the dress. ‘I was carrying it in the lift.’
He opened his mouth to tell her she damn well wasn’t, because there was no way in hell he’d have made a play for an engaged woman. Who needed that kind of drama? Was she engaged? No. He couldn’t believe it. He shut his mouth, realising nothing good would come of any question he asked. And she didn’t look in the mood for an argument. In fact she looked pretty close to a nervous breakdown.
Not exactly what he’d imagined their reunion might be like. Sure, he’d imagined heat, he’d imagined sweat, he’d not even dared hope to come close to losing consciousness. But right then, the only thing keeping him from bolting was the fact that the terror in Paige’s eyes pretty much mirrored his own.
He tore off his beanie, unwound his scarf, rid himself of his jacket and threw them onto her k
itchen diner. Then, hands shaking a little, he reached out, slowly, and curled his palms around her upper arms, careful not to touch the fabric wrapped lovingly around her body. Then he pressed himself inside her apartment and kicked the front door shut with his foot.
‘Paige. Believe me when I tell you this. I don’t recall you carrying anything that day.’
‘You told Nate I tried to shut the door on your hand, but you don’t remember me carrying a fluorescent white garment bag with ‘Wedding Dress Fire Sale’ in hot-pink neon writing slashed across the front of it?’
‘I remember fine.’ The big blue bedroom eyes. The rumpled blonde hair. The legs that went all the way up. The sparks bouncing off the walls. The instant intense stab of desire that had made a mockery of his efforts to sleep his jet lag away. ‘I remember you.’
At that Paige blinked. Faster than a hummingbird’s wings. And then she breathed out, long and slow, as if she’d been holding her breath a real long time.
At the slow rise and fall of her chest his eyes defied him and slid down, noting how well the … thing fitted her, dipping at the front, hugging at the sides, sloping down her beautiful hips. If a man in a rented tux ever got to see that walking towards him down an aisle, he’d have no complaints.
But he would never be that man.
He liked Paige. She was funny, smart, great company, breath-taking in bed. But if this dress was some kind of sign, she was signalling the wrong man.
He wasn’t a marrying man. Not even long-term-commitment guy. His priorities simply made it impossible. For as long as he could remember his ambitions had been clear-cut: to work hard and make his gran proud. After his one monumental hiccup, he’d poured all of himself into fixing that mistake. Never making the same one again.
And he wasn’t here. Was he? It didn’t feel as though he was, but, considering his track record, who the hell knew?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing there was no going forward—to the apartment, to work, or dinner, or even to her bed—till they cleared this all up.
