by Erika Kelly
Tires squealed on asphalt. A shout pierced the air. Knox spun around to look out the bay window of her living room but couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. Her house, situated on a sharp bend in the road, saw a lot of traffic. It sat close enough that she could catch a glimpse of the drivers’ faces as they whizzed by. But this car…this dark green Jeep…it was driving across her front yard.
Holy shit, it was careening toward the house.
Toward her. “Oh, my God.” She dropped the phone and bolted into the kitchen, seconds before the car crashed into her living room. Glass shattered. Wood splintered. The Jeep sheared off wallboard.
The engine idled, and an Eddie Van Halen guitar riff screeched in the air.
“Knox? Knox?” Her boss’s tinny voice got her moving toward the phone. She had to call nine-one-one. Brushing debris off her phone, she picked it up. “Luc? I have to call you back.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond, just hit End. Seeing no movement through the tinted windows, she called, “Hello? Are you all right?”
Swirls of dust filled the room. In her sandals, she made her way across glittering glass and chips of wood to the driver’s side, focusing on her keypad as she dialed.
Someone answered right away. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
She had to shout over the music. “A car just crashed into my living room.” As she gave her address and answered questions, her heart squeezed at the sight of crystals and beads and strips of delicate—filthy—lace under the big black tires. That lace…it was handmade. Literally irreplaceable. She tried the passenger side door, but it was locked. “Are you okay?” Peering into the tinted window, she made out several bodies.
The radio snapped off. The driver’s door opened, and a woman got out. Wearing a bikini top and jean shorts, she looked dazed.
“Hey, are you all right?” Knox lifted the phone. “I just called nine-one-one. They’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“I’m fine. I just…” The young woman covered her mouth with a hand and took in the scene. “Oh, my God.” She turned back to the car, pumping on the back door handle. “Guys? Open up.” When it popped open, she stepped aside to let several large men out.
Knox moved toward them, her ankle twisting in her stupid heels. “Is anyone hurt?” Three of the men were shirtless, one wore a thin white tank top, all wore board shorts. Five surfboards were strapped to the roof of the car, the front edges snapped off by the wallboard that covered the windshield.
“What the hell?” one of them said.
“Whoa, man,” another one said.
Her phone chimed, and she glanced quickly at the screen. Luc. Not now. She silenced the ringer. “What do you guys need?” She could grab some kitchen towels if anyone was bleeding.
“Knox?”
She’d know that deep, gravelly voice anywhere, even after all these years. A shock of recognition had her looking over to see—"Gray?”
What the hell was Gray Bowie doing in her living room?
“This is your house?” He scraped his fingers through his hair. “Jesus. Of all the people…” Fear twisted his features. “Did we hurt you?”
“No.” At least not in the way you’re thinking. “I’m fine.” She deliberately didn’t look at her gowns. It was the only way to keep her panic at bay. That…and she’d need her full attention to assess the damage. “What about you guys?” She gestured to his friends.
His gaze lingered for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe he was seeing her. Believe me, I feel the same way. It had been seven years since she’d last seen or talked to him.
His choice.
With a slight shake of his head, he turned to the driver. “You okay, Amelia?”
“Yeah.” The woman wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. “Shaken up, but I’m okay.”
She looked disoriented, so Knox wasn’t sure about that. Grabbing a kitchen chair, she said, “Maybe you should sit down.”
For a moment the woman looked confused. Then she pulled her hand off her neck. “No, it doesn’t hurt. I guess I’m just expecting it to.” She tipped a chin to the others. “You guys?”
The passengers all spoke at once, clearly stunned.
“I’m good.”
“Fine.”
“Jesus, man.”
Hands cupping the sides of her head, Amelia turned to survey the damage. “Oh, my God. How did this even happen?” She blew out a breath, glancing at Knox. “We were just so stoked, you know? He”—she pointed to Gray—“literally got the call ten minutes ago. And we’ve got to head to the airport right now.” She scanned the room, her attention zeroing in on the white tulle. “What is all this?”
With everything in her, Knox did not want to look at her beautiful, perfect gowns, wasn’t ready to see their condition, dreaded that feeling of total devastation…but she had no choice, did she? Slowly, she turned to take it all in.
The three draped over the dress forms she’d placed in front of the living room window lay trampled under the wheels. Terror sliced a vein, and she bled pure adrenaline. She went light-headed, her vision narrowing.
Her showstopper gowns were destroyed. They couldn’t be salvaged. Not a chance.
She drew in short, shallow breaths.
You don’t have time for a panic attack. She forced herself to rally. It’s only three dresses. The others might be okay. She could still show twenty-two dresses. She dropped to a crouch, and the world spun and teetered. She blinked away the wall of tears, fingering the sheer organza with handmade petals that overlaid her favorite gown.
A hand came down on her shoulder with a firm grip. “Knox?” Gray knelt beside her, wearing nothing but bright blue board shorts. He smelled of coconut oil and ocean breeze. She could even see a trace of dried salt on his skin.
It was enough—the destruction of one year of her work—she didn’t need him, of all people, compounding it. “Just…give me a second.” Some of these could be salvaged. Right? She could fix anything. But, no matter how hard she blinked, the room was still a blur. It made her frantic, so she swiped at her eyes. She needed to see, to assess, but the damn tears wouldn’t go away.
There’s still some fabric left. Plenty of embellishments.
I can fix anything.
The fist gripping her throat eased. She drew in a deep, calming breath. First, she had to get these people out of here. She couldn’t think with them in her living room. She’d assess the damage the minute they left.
It’ll be fine. Promise.
Everything felt surreal. The Jeep in the middle of her living room, the glorious dresses she’d hand-sewn lying beneath it, and…Gray Bowie right here talking to her. Especially since he looked so much bigger, broader, more masculine than the eighteen-year-old boy she remembered. The only thing that remained the same were his startlingly blue eyes.
But, holy cow, with his thick, powerful muscles, bronze skin covered in ink, shoulder-length dark hair that curled at his neck, and a strong jaw covered in scruff, he’d turned into every woman’s bad boy fantasy come to life.
“What is all this?” Gray jerked his chin toward the mass of white, blush, lavender and a blue so pale it looked gossamer.
She tried to hide the panic from her voice. “Wedding gowns.” Assaulted by a tumult of unwelcome emotions, she stood up in a rush. She needed him—all of them—gone. “You—”
“Wait, we ran over your wedding dress?” Amelia sounded horrified.
“Not mine. I’m a designer. I’ve got a show in six weeks.” Six weeks.
But Martine is coming on Monday.
Oh, God. She couldn’t fix this much destruction in three days.
Wrong. She would, because the alternative was unthinkable.
“Fuck,” one of the guys drew out the word like a balloon leaking air.
“Well,” Gray said. “Let’s get this Jeep out of here and see what we’ve got.”
A rush of energy had her practically tackling him. “Absolutely not. Don’t move anything. I ha
ve to see what I can salvage before we back over the dresses.”
“Good point.” He turned to his friends. “Guys, let’s pick up whatever—”
“No.” They all froze at her sharp tone. “I need you to go outside and wait for the paramedics.” At their perplexed expression, she explained, “There are beads and crystals and panels of lace…fine details that I need to handle on my own.” Material created from Luc’s heritage atelier and fabric mill. Nothing she could ever recreate.
Okay, that’s enough. She had to stop catastrophizing. You can’t fix anything if you’re freaking out.
“We can at least pick up the dresses,” Gray said. “Get them out of the dust.”
The careless son of a billionaire, who spent his life chasing waves and snowstorms, Gray couldn’t begin to understand that he’d destroyed not only a year’s worth of work but the launch of her career.
“No. Please…just leave.” No matter how in control she needed to be, nothing could stop the trembling from deep within. “I have until Monday to make it look like your Jeep didn’t mow down my gowns.” At their stunned expressions, she eased back. “I’m sorry, but this is my first show, and I’ve got the backing of the biggest bridal designer in the world. I swear to God, I don’t want to lose it in front of you guys, but this is my life’s work, so please, please, just go. I have to figure things out.”
“Yeah, sure,” one of the guys said. “Come on.” Two of them headed out across the wreckage.
Amelia stood there, slack-jawed, looking destroyed. “I’m so sorry. I…” Her jaw snapped shut. She reached into the Jeep and dragged out a slate gray leather messenger bag.
A five-hundred-dollar Longchamp. It looked totally out of place with these laid-back surfers.
The woman pulled out a crumpled receipt and wrote something on it. “I’m Amelia Webber. This is my contact information. I’ll pay for all the repairs. That includes your house, supplies, and whatever your dresses need.” With a plea in her eyes, she said. “Anything I can do to help, I’ll do it. I’m so sorry.” She stood there a moment, looking helpless, and then turned and moved carefully out into the bright sunshine.
Only Gray remained. Stroking his scruff, he examined the tires. “I’m sure the car’s got a jack. Instead of backing out over them, we can jack it up and let you get the dresses out.” He turned those bright blue eyes on her, and a shudder of recognition traveled through her. “That sound good?”
God, she couldn’t stop shaking. This time, when her phone vibrated, she glanced at the screen. How many times had Luc called? She knew he was going out of his mind with worry, but she couldn’t talk to him until she had a handle on the situation.
With the others in the front yard, huddled together and talking quietly, and Gray opening the back of the Jeep and leaning inside, she had a moment to really take in the damage.
Destruction.
Dust swirled in the slanted morning sunlight, and sparkling glass, beads, and crystals lay scattered across the wood floor. A fine layer of debris covered the dresses heaped on the kitchen table--dresses far too fragile to clean. The dresses under the Jeep were a total loss. The tires had shredded the delicate fabric. Luckily, the fender stopped right before the couch, saving the dresses draped over it. They were covered in particles from sheet rock, though. Picking it out would tear the delicate material. Still, she’d try. She had to try.
Gray slammed the trunk, wielding the tire iron like a trident. “Called for a tow. Better to have a professional lift it. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
She gave him a skeptical look. Nothing on the island moved that quickly.
He shrugged. “I know a guy.”
Of course he did. Everyone loved the Bowie family. All four brothers were elite athletes blessed with good looks, ridiculously cut bodies, and the kind of confidence that silenced conversations when they entered a room.
He looked at her a little too long—his expression revealing nothing—until a smile softened his features. “I can’t believe you’ve been here a year, and I never ran into you.”
Choosing a house to rent on this beach for her year-long seclusion hadn’t been random. Both her ex-boyfriend and Gray’s families had houses here, and she’d come with them on vacations for many years. She might have godawful memories of her hometown of Calamity, Wyoming, but she had the best ones in this place. “I’ve been working.”
“Right.” A hand on his hip, like a marauding invader, Gray surveyed the living room. “I’m going to send the others back to the house. While we wait for the tow truck, we can take all these dresses”—he gestured to the kitchen table—“to the bedroom.”
“Gray, I’m going to be dead honest with you. I’m about two seconds away from losing my shit. Literally, the only thing between me and a total meltdown is the absolute false hope that I can still somehow make my Monday deadline. So, I’d be really grateful if you’d leave right now and let me get a handle on this disaster. Can you do that for me, please?”
He stood there, this mountain of a man, with his potently masculine features and that same aura of confidence that had always allowed her to lean on him at the lowest points of her childhood. She knew what he wanted. To be her hero. To fix her problems. That’s our pattern. He’d been the one—not the school, not her mom, not her ex—to knock her bullies into next week.
That pattern had ended the night of the prom, when he’d walked away from her. She’d vowed to never be anyone’s pity project again.
Her phone’s screen lit up again, and then, just to make him leave, she held it up. “This is my backer. I was talking to him when your friend drove into my living room, so he’s going to want to know what happened. He’s a total drama queen, and when I tell him what happened, it’s a very big possibility he’ll cancel my show.”
“Don’t tell him.”
“He hired me out of fashion school, included me with his family over the holidays, and backed my show even after I quit on him. I have to tell him.” The adrenaline rush was subsiding, allowing the slow tide of fear to roll in. “He’s sending someone on Monday to pack up the dresses and ship them. And, unless you have a super power beyond being unnaturally good at everything you do, there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to have…” She glanced around the room, making a quick count of the unaffected dresses. “More than ten dresses ready to go. And that’s not a show.”
He stalked right up to her. “Trust me?”
She’d never known her father. Her mom was a good person whose lust for life meant a lot of lonely days and nights for Knox. Other than her ex and Gray, she’d had no friends growing up. And she still had few…okay, fine, no friends. So, it was safe to say, trust didn’t come easily to her.
But she had trusted this man. “Not since the day you walked out and never looked back. Goodbye, Gray.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Cool morning air whipped through the open windows of Gray’s rental car, bringing the scent of the sea and a hint of plumeria. The road followed the coastline, nothing but white sand and swaying palm trees.
He got a flash of Knox’s ruined dresses, and cold dread prickled his skin, making him sick to his stomach. What the hell did we do to her?
As she’d surveyed the damage, she’d looked utterly stricken. He would fix it, though. Whatever it took, he would get her back on track.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her comment. Not since the day you walked out and never looked back. She’d meant to deliver it cold and flat, but he’d heard that edge of hurt. Seen it simmering in the depths of her hazel eyes.
It shocked the hell out of him to find out he’d hurt her. What had Gray ever been, but her informant, her therapist, her window into her messed up boyfriend?
Of course, he’d thought about her over the years. You don’t break a habit that easily. He’d checked out her social media sites enough to know she’d left town not long after him, moving to New York City months earlier than she’d planned. He’d figured, if she could put Robert
behind her, then she wouldn’t have spared him a single thought.
To have hurt her, though, meant he’d mattered.
He steered the car into her driveway, pleased to see the contractor he’d called had boarded up the living room window and cleared the yard of debris. Shifting into Park, he got out. It didn’t sit well that he’d hurt her by walking away all those years ago, but this time…Jesus, this time he’d fucked up her career.
The Jeep had taken out the front door, so he knocked on one of the remaining support beams. When she didn’t answer, he walked around the side of the house, across a row of uneven stones lodged into dirt, and landed in a tidy plot of green grass. A rickety, waist-high wooden fence separated the lawn from the beach.
He climbed the cement porch steps and rapped on the back door, turning to face the thrashing ocean.
He could see why she’d chosen this house. Surfers lined up, waiting to hit those juicy waves. Man, they’d had some good times on this beach. Back in middle and high school, they’d spent their vacations surfing and hanging out. He smiled at the memory of Robert thinking he could teach Knox how to ride. As if he didn’t know she was the kind of person to learn by experience. It had taken her awhile, but she’d figured it out on her own. She’d been fearless, graceful, and athletic.
Damn, he’d loved her. Watching the waves—he estimated about twenty footers—ten feet taller than yesterday’s—he reached behind him and knocked again. In a few days, he’d be riding fifty-foot monsters. Excitement slammed him. He couldn’t wait to get to California.
If they’d stayed friends, would Knox be going with him? Hell, would she have gotten the invitation for Titans with him?
Nah, she’d always wanted to be a fashion designer. She wouldn’t have time to enter competitions on a whim like he did. She’d never have become part of his—as his brothers liked to say—posse. She had a big life, just as she’d always wanted.
Or she’d been about to have one—until they’d destroyed it.
