She had been in charge of the company’s day-to-day operations for years now. Her father made an appearance a few times a week to serve the handful of clients who felt more comfortable having a male rather than a female tailor. He had vowed to pass the business on to her when he finally retired in a couple of years, but would he keep his promise if a real estate developer made him an offer too lucrative to pass up? Each time she finished a design, Grace felt like she was continuing a family legacy. She hoped she would have an opportunity to uphold the traditions that had been established decades ago.
Business was steady, but it wasn’t growing as fast as it had in the past. She and her father had lost some of their professional football clientele to younger, more aggressive tailors who sent representatives to pre-draft workouts to dole out business cards and offer discount packages to promising players. Grace’s father didn’t believe in chasing business. He preferred to allow it to come to him. The philosophy had worked so far. She prayed it would continue to pay off. If the company went out of business, everything she had been striving for would vanish, and she would have to start from scratch—after she figured out what she wanted to be when she grew up. She had longed to become a tailor since the first time she picked up a needle and thread. If she couldn’t pursue her dream, her life could become a nightmare.
Grace tightened her grip on her notebook when she heard the elevator doors slide open, then slam shut. She didn’t usually get nervous before she met with clients for the first time, but neither this meeting nor this particular client were like any she’d ever had. She wanted to make a good impression. Too bad her tardy client didn’t seem to feel the same way. A few seconds later, the office door creaked open and Dakota Lane poked her head inside.
Dakota was tall—six feet, if she was an inch—long limbed, and gifted with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. A suit would hang wonderfully on her, whether tailor-made or off-the-rack. She was working as a bike messenger when a scout for one of the leading modeling agencies saw her parked at a traffic light one afternoon. The scout liked what he saw, ordered his cabbie to follow her to the site of her next delivery, and offered her a contract on the spot. She had been working steadily as a model ever since, but she evidently hadn’t given up her day job because she was dressed head to toe in cycling gear and had the mangled remains of a lightweight road bike draped over one shoulder.
“Am I in the right place?” Dakota removed her bicycle helmet and tucked it under one smoothly muscled arm. The muscles in her corded thighs and cut calves were even more well defined. Grace dragged her gaze away from the view as Dakota continued speaking. “I emailed a few days ago to schedule an appointment for a fitting. I got a reply directing me to come today at five thirty.”
Grace pressed her lips together to prevent herself from pointing out that five thirty had come and gone. “Yes, you’ve come to the right place. I’m Grace Henderson and this is Lillie Washington, our best seamstress.” Dakota reached to shake her hand, but Grace left her hanging when she noticed the large scrape on Dakota’s right knee and the trickle of blood sliding down her shin. “Are you all right?”
Dakota looked down, apparently unfazed by the sight of blood pooling in her expensive-looking cycling shoe. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“A cab driver sideswiped me while I was making my last delivery.”
“Did you call the police, baby?” Lillie asked.
“No, ma’am.” Dakota pulled off her padded cycling gloves like a boxer waiting to hear the decision after a fight. “The driver didn’t stick around long enough for me to get his name. He was probably afraid I’d kick his ass, which I was sorely tempted to do, believe me.”
Lillie punched the air. “Good for you. Most cabbies drive like the rules of the road don’t apply to them. You take your life into your hands each time you flag one down.”
“You can leave your bike in the hall,” Grace said, trying to steer the conversation back to where it belonged. “It’ll be safe out there. In the meantime, I’ll grab the first aid kit so we can take care of your leg.”
“It’s just a scratch,” Dakota said. “I get them all the time. Most drivers view cyclists as nuisances and treat us as such. Sometimes, the feeling is mutual.” She put the bicycle down and wheeled it—or tried to—into the hall. The front tire was flat, the frame was bent, and several spokes were missing. She had apparently been lucky to wind up with only a scraped knee. From the looks of her bike, her injuries could have been much worse.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm.” Lillie slowly shook her head. “I don’t know what you were trying to deliver, child, but let FedEx handle it next time. Ain’t no package worth getting killed for.”
Dakota shrugged. “It’s one of the risks of the job.”
“And you’re still willing to take that risk, considering everything you have at stake?” Grace asked.
Her heart skipped a beat when Dakota turned to look at her. Dakota’s eyes were arresting. One of her eyes was brown and the other was blue. Both seemed to peer past Grace’s exterior into her soul. Dakota’s features were angular, accentuated by a strong jaw and an aquiline nose. Her breasts were small, her lips full. Her short, dark brown hair was styled into a pompadour fade. Cut low on the sides, but with enough height on top to make Elvis—or his modern equivalent—proud.
“Despite what you might have heard,” Dakota said, “I’m more than just a pretty face.”
Grace wouldn’t call her pretty. Handsome was the adjective that came more readily to mind. And Dakota certainly was that, but her appeal was lost on Grace. Grace preferred more feminine women. After dealing with men and their hard, straight lines all day, she looked forward to going home with someone soft. Someone with curves. The only curves Dakota Lane had were on the wrecked bicycle in the hall.
And the irresponsible way Dakota had handled their appointment stuck in Grace’s craw. The accident didn’t sound like it had been Dakota’s fault, but Grace was miffed Dakota hadn’t had the decency to give her a call to explain the delay. Dakota’s apology sounded sincere, if a bit practiced. Like she was accustomed to using her good looks and obvious charm to get her out of a jam. Sharks had pretty smiles, too, but their bite was nothing to play with.
“Let’s get you patched up.” Grace pulled a tube of disinfectant, a pack of gauze, and a small roll of medical tape from the first aid kit.
“That’s okay. I can do it.” Dakota plucked the items from Grace’s hands, took a seat on the bench in front of the worktable that doubled as Grace’s desk, and began dabbing at the blood on her leg. She looked up as she applied disinfectant gel to the scrape on her knee. “Are there any questions you need to ask me before you whip out the measuring tape?”
“Several.”
“Then let’s get started.” Dakota placed a square of gauze on her knee and carefully taped it in place. Then she rubbed antibacterial cleanser on her hands and flashed another one of those killer smiles. “I’ve already kept you waiting long enough, don’t you think?”
“Yes, you certainly have.”
Even though Grace had the theme song from Jaws running through her head, she couldn’t help wondering how long she would have to wait before she saw Dakota Lane again.
Chapter Two
Grace’s questions were obviously designed to help her craft the perfect suit to fit her customers’ needs, but they were so probing Dakota couldn’t help feeling defensive. More than that. She felt exposed. Like Grace was slowly peeling back the layers to get to her core. Did Grace like what she saw? Because Dakota certainly did.
Grace’s skin and eyes were a rich dark chocolate. Her hair was long and thick. As luxurious as the gentle swell of her hips. Her breasts were full, straining the buttons of her black blouse. Her heels were stylish but sensible, lessening the chance she would wind up with aching feet at the end of the workday. The houndstooth skirt she was wearing came to rest just above her knees, giving Dakota an unobstructed view of her shapely
legs under the picnic-style table that served as her desk.
The instant Dakota laid eyes on her, one word had come immediately to mind: ripe. Dakota longed to taste the expected sweetness, but she could tell the chances of that happening were somewhere between slim and none. Despite Dakota’s apology, Grace had seemed none too pleased by her late arrival. Grace had acted momentarily concerned when she caught a glimpse of Dakota’s scraped knee, but she had been all business ever since Dakota tended the wound.
It was just as well, Dakota thought. Her friends called her the one-hit wonder because she rarely if ever took a woman on a second date. With so many women in the world, why should she limit herself to just one? Successful, beautiful, and obviously intelligent, Grace Henderson was the kind of woman who might tempt her to change her philosophy. But her way of life had worked out well so far. Why should she change now?
Grace glanced at her handwritten notes. “I asked you to collect pictures of suits you like so I can get an idea of your design aesthetic. Did you remember to bring them?”
Dakota felt color rise in her cheeks. She hadn’t blushed in years. Why was she acting like a bashful schoolgirl now? “Yes and no.” She reached into the pocket built into the back of her cycling jersey and pulled out her waterlogged phone. “I saved the pictures on this, but it ended up in the gutter after my accident. It won’t be good to anyone until it’s been sitting in a box of rice for at least twenty-four hours.”
Grace’s hard expression softened, and the crease between her eyebrows slowly faded from view. “That explains why you didn’t call.”
“Pardon?” Grace waved off Dakota’s question, making Dakota even more anxious to please her. “I have my portfolio in my messenger bag. Would that work?”
“I’m afraid not. While I’m sure the suits in the pictures are quite stylish, I don’t want to see someone else’s idea of you. I want to see yours.” Grace scribbled something in her notebook and underlined it three times, making Dakota wish she could read upside down. She’d give anything to know what required that much emphasis. “Are you making the purchase for a special occasion, or are you simply looking to expand your wardrobe?”
Finally a question Dakota could answer.
“My sister’s getting married in June and I need a suit to wear to the wedding. Most of the ones in my closet are black, dark blue, or charcoal gray. They would be much too funereal for what’s supposed to be a joyous occasion. And late spring in south Georgia is almost as bad as the middle of summer here. I don’t want to roast while I’m waiting for Brooke and her intended to say ‘I do.’”
Grace nodded and jotted another note. “Then I suggest a lightweight material. Something breathable. Are you going to be a member of the wedding party?”
“No,” Dakota said quickly so she wouldn’t have to spend too much time rehashing that conversation in her mind. Her family disapproved of most things she did. Being passed over for maid of honor or even bridesmaid in her sister’s wedding only reinforced the fact. Even though she would have balked at wearing a dress, she thought she could have pulled off the rest of the required duties without much effort. “My official duties are limited to attending the ceremony and making a toast at the reception.”
“I see. That means you’re free to choose any color you like. Do you have any preferences?”
Dakota rubbed her chin as she considered the question. “I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to wear white because I don’t want to risk upstaging the bride. I don’t want to wear yellow because I don’t want to end up looking like Big Bird. And red’s out, too, because I don’t want to look like a pimp.”
Grace reached for a selection of fabric swatches and slid it into the space between them. “How about salmon?”
Dakota leaned toward her. “Do I strike you as someone whose design aesthetic is geared toward the pink section of the color wheel?”
A corner of Grace’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “No, you don’t.” She looked through the swatches until she found one that caught her eye. “How about this one?”
Dakota peered at the sample Grace had selected. The swatch was a gorgeous robin’s-egg blue, though the fabric didn’t appear to be wool. According to the company website, Henderson Custom Suits used some of the highest quality wools on the market. Why was Grace offering her something else? Dakota rubbed the swatch between her fingers to feel the material. “Is this linen?”
“Yes. Most of the suits we make are wool, but I think linen—no pun intended—would better suit your needs. It’s light and comfortable and works really well as a summer suit. With the proper care, the material will prove just as durable as wool. Pair it with a white dress shirt and matching pocket square, and you’ll be all set.”
Dakota imagined the finished product. She had a white leather belt and a pair of white canvas tennis shoes that would provide the perfect accessories. “I like it. Let’s go with that.”
“Excellent.” Grace made a few more notes and reached for a roll of measuring tape. “After I take your measurements, we can wrap things up.”
Dakota reached into her messenger bag. “No need. I brought my own.”
Grace frowned as she examined the numbers printed on the piece of paper Dakota handed her. “When did you have these taken?”
“Before Fashion Week in January. Why?”
Grace glanced at the numbers again. “No offense, but I think these might no longer be accurate.”
“Is that a diplomatic way of saying I should lay off the craft beer and all-you-can-eat hot wings?”
“No, it’s my way of guaranteeing I have a satisfied customer.” Grace set the paper aside, draped the measuring tape across her shoulders, and rose from her seat. “Shall we?”
“Do you want me to strip down, or am I fine as is?”
“There’s no need for nudity just yet.”
“But you’ll be sure to let me know if something changes, won’t you?”
Dakota thought the line was pretty good, but it didn’t elicit a smile, let alone a verbal response. Grace simply spread the measuring tape across Dakota’s shoulders and went to work taking the thirty measurements she and her team needed to tailor a suit.
I must be losing my touch, Dakota thought as Grace called out a series of numbers and Lillie carefully recorded them. Grace’s tone was businesslike, but her touch was light. Dakota felt a shiver run down her spine each time Grace repositioned her hands.
“Flex your arm for me.”
Dakota did as requested when Grace stood behind her and wrapped the measuring tape around her bicep. “Welcome to the gun show.” She turned to gauge Grace’s reaction to her quip. “I’ll bet you’ve heard that joke a time or two.”
“You might say that.”
Her beautiful face a blank mask, Grace called out a number for Lillie to record, then measured the length of Dakota’s arms. She paused while Lillie added the new number to the growing list. Dakota enjoyed the respite. She could feel the heat of Grace’s body, and it was all she could do not to press herself against her.
“Now I’m going to measure the fullest part of your chest,” Grace said, giving her fair warning. “Do you want the suit to play up or deemphasize your bust?”
Dakota tried to formulate a response, but she couldn’t think straight with Grace’s arms wrapped around her and the tape pressing against her breasts. She felt her nipples press against her cycling jersey. The form-fitting material did little to hide her growing arousal. Grace was behind her so she couldn’t see the effect her actions were having on her. Lillie, however, was perfectly positioned to see everything.
“This building gets kind of drafty during the winter,” Lillie said with a teasing smile. “If it’s too cold in here for you, I could ask Grace to turn up the heat.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.” And, without even realizing it, Grace was doing just fine ratcheting up the heat on her own. “We’re almost done, aren’t we?”
Lillie’s smile grew broader. “Honey, we�
��ve barely begun. She hasn’t even started measuring you for the pants yet.”
Dakota’s body temperature spiked a few degrees when she considered the effect that endeavor might have on her. If this process went on much longer, she thought she might spontaneously combust.
Grace dropped to one knee. Dakota looked away so she wouldn’t be tempted to treat herself to an eyeful of Grace’s glorious cleavage. “Do you dress left or right?”
“Pardon?” Dakota asked, unsure she had heard correctly.
“I know it’s an unusual question—”
“Believe me, I understand the question. I model men’s clothes for a living.” Dakota didn’t mention she had been known to rock a dildo in public from time to time because Grace already seemed to be very much aware of the fact. Otherwise, why would the subject come up? “But I’m not planning on packing at my sister’s wedding.” She was used to receiving attention, both positive and negative, but she didn’t want to be responsible for drawing any of the focus from Brooke on a day when the spotlight was supposed to be on her.
“The accessories you choose to wear to your sister’s nuptials are entirely up to you, but if you plan on wearing the suit on less-formal occasions, I thought it would be easier if I made the appropriate adjustments to the design now so you won’t have to make a return trip. My mission is to give you what you want, but I can’t give that to you unless you tell me what that is.”
Grace’s smile was like catnip. Earthy, yet intoxicating. Even though Dakota had just met her, Grace’s opinion of her mattered. She wanted to please her. Impress her. Win her over.
“The wedding and reception will last a few hours,” Grace said. “The suit you’re asking me to make will be meant to last much longer than that. And most importantly, it will be made according to your specifications. With that being said, would you like me to leave a bit of extra room along the inseam?”
Some women Dakota had come across thought toys should only be worn in the privacy of the bedroom. Nothing in Grace’s cool, professional demeanor made her feelings on the matter clear, but Dakota longed to know where she stood. And to slowly slip inside her while she was wearing the “accessory” both of them had referred to but neither had named. “Yes.”
Tailor-Made Page 2
