by Larkin Rose
No. She didn’t. What she needed was coffee, maybe another breakfast bar, and to make sure progress was well under way with the other crews.
Eve pushed away from the table, reaching for the BlackBerry chirping by her side. She read the text from Gloria, the set director, stating they were ready for Eve to pick out her desired lighting for her spot in the show.
She replied that she’d be there shortly, then clipped the phone back to her side.
Angelica hung up and stood. “I have another model on the way. I’m sorry about—”
“No apologies necessary.” Angelica nodded and Eve continued. “I have a concern about model number three. A bit on the skinny side. I’ll use her, but I’d like to talk to her first, to explain how important her health is. Can you bring her to me in about thirty?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m going to make some rounds. We’ll all connect over lunch, say, around twelve, to double-check progress. Text me when your new model is ready.” Eve motioned for Khandi.
“She’ll be here in about an hour.”
“Excellent.” Eve left the room and made her way toward Francesca, with Roger hot on her heels as if she might get away. Khandi matched her strides beside her.
“I need to check in on Francesca, then meet Gloria.” Eve checked the time on her watch and quickened her steps. That son of a bitch had really messed up her morning, and Roger hadn’t stopped scowling about it.
Khandi looked over her shoulder and puckered her lips. “I’ll be over there joining the line of ladies drooling over your new prop designer when you need me.”
Eve looked in the direction of the cubicles set up for the crews. “Is that very businesslike?”
“Who cares? She’s flippin’ hot.” Khandi turned and strolled away.
Eve rolled her eyes and headed toward the wardrobe area with Roge right behind her. They turned down an adjoining hallway toward the area designated for Francesca, the models, and the overflow for wardrobe. Doors dotted the hall where models and makeup artists would soon fill the rooms. Today, the crowd was at a minimum since most crews were hard at work setting up individual show times. Soon, everything would change. The halls would be packed, every spare inch of space needed for last-second practice walks, with the hair and makeup artists scurrying after their appointed models so they didn’t knock a single pin or hairpiece out of place.
Soon, the quiet halls would resemble a zoo. A beautiful, chaotic zoo. Eve thanked her lucky stars she was able to snag the perfect studio in the theater district. Everything she needed was within walking distance.
Leading the way into the crowded room, Eve found Francesca standing before one of the models, who was wrapped in the black and crimson gown. Francesca looked in her element with a pincushion clamped around one wrist and several pins wedged between her lips.
“I see you’re already hard at work.” Eve walked up behind her to get a closer look at the star creation. “Seeing it still takes my breath away.”
Francesca used up the last of the pins in her mouth on the model’s hips, then gave Eve a hug.
“Yes. It’s beautiful.” Francesca waved the model off the pedestal and her assistant took over helping her shed the glimmering gown.
Eve immediately thought of Zara, how stunning the dress would look on her lean curves. Zara bought every piece Eve created. Be it samples, or the hit of the runway, Zara would own them all. All Eve had to do was name the price.
That fact sometimes scared Eve. She wasn’t dependent on Zara, or her money, but it sure didn’t hurt her sales.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d do the same thing you were doing without me. Starving.” Francesca laughed, a deep baritone sound that was addicting.
Eve joined the laughter, gave Francesca another hug, then ducked out.
It seemed there was a hottie in the house. Eve was positive she’d need to be rescued from Khandi by now.
Chapter Six
Eve found Gloria at the end of the makeshift runway, her expression intent as she studied the lighting, exacting angles, and brightness. Her assistant pressed another button on the remote control and the lighting changed again. The aisle lit up with soft pale light.
“Eve, I’m not happy with this,” Gloria said. “It’s not bright enough.”
Eve stood beside her. “I agree. Go back with the hard filter.”
The light changed again; this time harsh white light landed on the catwalk. “Yes. That one.”
Gloria nodded and gave a thumbs up to the assistant in the window above the stage.
Eve turned to leave and spotted one of the new props at the end of the newly erected makeshift runway. She went closer for an inspection and was pleased with the engraving spiraling from bottom to top of the knee-high pedestal. She could already envision the end product, chrome-speckled vases filled with curly twigs in metallic colors. In years past, she’d tried to use duller colors so that the gowns would stand out above all else. This year, she wanted something different to showcase the sparkle she’d added to over half of the designs.
It was then she realized she hadn’t taken the time to introduce herself to the new prop designer, or rescue her, and she went in search of her. She found the designated area and spotted Khandi along with three other workers giggling like schoolgirls. “What are you guys up to?”
All but Khandi jumped and spun around. They stared at Eve as if she might bite, then scurried away.
“Khandi. What the hell are you doing?”
Without turning around, Khandi shushed her. “I told you. Ogling the new hottie.”
“Can you pretend to act your age?” Eve waved for Roger. “Let’s go meet this new prop goddess.”
Khandi gave a tiny squeal, then dodged around Eve and led the way into the enclosed area.
Eve shook her head and followed Khandi into a small area sectioned off at the side of the temporary catwalk and found two women laughing and jostling each other like kids at summer camp. It was cute, actually. Only problem was, they were on her clock, and time was of the essence during hell week.
“Amelia?” Eve grinned as the woman whipped around as if she’d heard a gunshot, while the other woman turned with such casual ease that Eve wondered if she were high on paint fumes.
Khandi sucked in a startled breath and Eve could understand why. The taller woman was a breathtaking creature for sure. Eve’s insides heated.
Dressed as if she’d recently stepped right off a highway billboard, the woman’s appearance screamed suave control. And fuck me. Her white button-down shirt was still perfectly pressed and bright, the rolled-up sleeves giving Eve a clear view of tight forearms. Eve couldn’t help noticing clean nails and strong hands. Dark jeans encased well-muscled legs and hugged her thighs like a second skin. Her short, straight brown hair was damn enticing the way it fell in disarray like there was no rhyme or reason to the style. Eve was sure it’d look even better between her thighs, sifting through her fingers while she yanked the woman tight against her pussy.
Ivy green eyes turned her way and Eve had to remind herself that she wasn’t a fish, that she needed air to survive.
She calmly refilled her lungs, wondering if they bred women this sexy in London, and if so, how she’d been in all the wrong places every year she’d been putting on the event. What fun she could have been having with this hunk of rare meat a few hundred times a week, twice a year.
From her tan loafers all the way up to that unkempt hair, the woman was all butch. Just like her fantasy woman, the one she kept buried deep in the recesses of her mind. She had been positive no such specimen existed, until now. Too bad she lived across the world. Too bad Eve would only have a week to get to know her, to feel those fingers plunge deep.
“I’m Amelia, owner of Ruccar,” the other woman blurted, breaking the trance. She tugged off a thick rubber glove and extended her hand to Eve.
“It’s great to meet you, Amelia. I’m Eve Harris.” Eve pulled
her attention away from the sexy barbarian and shook her hand, pleased with the confident grip. If there was one thing that irked her, it was women who felt inferior in this line of work. This was a fuck and be fucked world, and usually only the strong fought their way to the surface. Eve would know. She’d hand-battled a lot of competition and thankfully come out the victor.
Ms. Tall and Handsome made a sharp noise much like Khandi’s and Eve cut a glance back on her. The woman quickly turned away, but the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Amelia, who quirked a warning brow before smiling again.
“This is Jodi. I conned her into working with me this week.”
Jodi. Eve liked that name. It fit the tempting butch. Eve wondered how well those muscular thighs would fit between her spread thighs, how smooth that tongue would curl around her aching clit.
Eve nodded in her direction but didn’t offer her hand and neither did Jodi. She wondered what the exchange was all about but was truly out of time for small talk. Angelica should be calling soon, and Roger was already breathing heavy with impatience. “Nice to meet you.”
Khandi’s BlackBerry chirped, mocking Eve.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. The prop is beautiful. Did you—”
“Eve, the model you wanted to talk to is on her way,” Khandi announced.
Eve turned to look at her, pouring out her aggravation in a single look. “Thank you, Khandi.”
Khandi shrugged and tapped the phone. “I’m just saying.”
Eve looked back at Amelia, resisting another glance at the assistant, who she could see out of the corner of her eye was looking everywhere but in her direction. “Did you get the memo about the new color scheme?”
Roger’s phone chirped. “Eve, one of the models is refusing to wear—”
Eve held up her hand to silence him. “Do not use the word refuse in front of me today. Send her ass home and have Angelica replace her.” She sighed and gave Amelia an apologetic shrug.
“Yes, I did. The prop’s not complete. I had Jodi take it out to make sure the height was correct.” Amelia nodded toward her. “I decided not to paint until I was sure no more changes would be made.”
“That’s probably wise.” Eve wanted to add that at least someone around there was thinking ahead. She liked Amelia already. As well as her yummy assistant.
“Eve, Angelica said—”
Once again, Eve held up her hand. She was used to being interrupted and having to fix five hundred problems while managing to hold up an intelligent conversation, but right now, she wanted total silence to soak up the moment, to inhale the musky scent that could only belong to the delicious assistant Jodi.
“When do you expect to have the other three props ready?”
“I’ll have a second finished in about three hours. The remaining two will be ready tomorrow afternoon. That gives me the following day to paint and make any final adjustments you want.”
“Perfect.” Eve noticed the model standing uneasily a few feet away. She nodded her acknowledgment in her direction. “Amelia, Jodi, it’s been a pleasure. I’ll check back in later today to see the progress.” She took one last glance at Jodi then walked away.
*
Jodi stared at Eve’s retreating back, at the delicate shape of her ribs, at the dangerous curves of her hips and ass and thighs, shocked to the core, her body heat spiking.
That voice. Eve’s voice. Her Eve, right here in London.
She hadn’t needed to hear Eve’s name roll off that tongue to know who she was. She’d know that voice anywhere. She’d heard it a hundred times over the wire with her eyes closed, fighting for control, hundreds more in her dreams, where she could lose that grip. Whispering, whimpering, and crying out her name, she’d heard every aspect of the delicate sound.
Worse, the impulse to fuck her had been consuming, drowning her as Eve made small talk with Amelia. She was perfect all the way down to those worn-out boots.
She’d never been so confused in her life, not even when the police had showed up on her doorstep to announce that her mother wouldn’t be coming home. Ever. While the men had stood tall in the living room of the rented apartment, waiting for her to pack a bag, waiting to haul her to social services. Warning bells had screeched loud. With her bag looped over her back, she’d climbed out the bathroom window and run like hell.
Even with memories slashing through her mind, Jodi could feel Amelia’s penetrating stare and avoided looking at her. Instead, she focused on Eve’s raven curls nestled against the middle of her back as Eve stood less than ten feet away with the too thin model Jodi had followed into the theater that morning.
Everything rushed at her at once—Eve always working, always rushing, always tired, and always lonely. She was positive now that Eve didn’t have time to make friends, let alone relationships. The picture was crystal clear.
Eve was large and always in charge. She was queen of her fashion world. It turned Jodi on—all that control and power on the outside, losing it freely on the inside with Lexi’s voice coaxing her to a screaming orgasm. Jodi knew Eve, knew what she sounded like when she was coming and powerless. She knew how sweet her name sounded pouring over those lips.
“Care to share what the hell that was all about?”
“Shhh.” Jodi strained to hear Eve’s conversation.
“I told Angelica I’d use you in the show, but I advise you not to fall into the trap of watching body fat and calories. Your health should be the most important thing to you, not your fame.”
Jodi swallowed as the two women started walking again. They slowly disappeared, absorbed in the sea of staff. People raced toward Eve, stopping her every few feet.
Amelia stepped in front of Jodi, blocking her locked view on Eve. Had she just heard that right? A fashion designer telling a model that she was too skinny. What were the odds? It made Jodi want to fuck her all the more.
“Hello! I’m talking to you.”
“It’s her.” Jodi forked her fingers through her hair, her mind muddled, her body aching.
“Who?”
“Eve.”
“Yeah? Eve…my new boss. What about her?” Amelia waved her hands in front of Jodi’s face. “Earth to Jodi.”
Jodi blinked, finally snapping back to reality, and whispered, “She’s one of my phone clients.”
Amelia threw her head back and laughed so hard people stopped their work to investigate. “In your fucking dreams, Ms. Walking Advertisement.” She gave a final snort, shaking her head, and then lowered her voice. “Did you happen to see her? All of her? From head to toe, that woman reeks of sex. Why in the world would she need you, a sex operator? Especially a pretend Brit halfway across the map? Again, did you see her?”
“It’s her, Amelia.”
“If you say that one more time I’m going to take my chisel and work a masterpiece on your brassy balls. I’m so not kidding.” Amelia smirked and turned to look back at Eve. “You’re full of shit, Jodi. No way would someone that sexy have a need for a damn sex phone operator.”
Jodi’s pussy throbbed. The moment felt surreal. After all those nights wondering what Eve would look like, if she were grotesque or hideous, and now she was looking at this breathtaking creature. She was reality at its finest. All the phone calls, with her eyes screwed tight, resisting the desperate urge to touch herself and follow Eve into the erotic abyss.
Amelia turned sharply. “Completely coincidental. Just your wishful thinking. Come on. Let’s get back to work.” She ducked around Jodi and squatted next to the newest prop they’d been working on.
Her insides clenched. She wanted to be Eve’s living fantasy, wanted to do all those things she promised over a phone, all the things she made Eve envision as she fucked herself.
Jodi knelt next to Amelia. “It’s her.”
“It’s not her.”
The challenge was in her voice, that finality of the conversation. “I can prove it.”
Amelia sat down Indian-style a
nd faced Jodi. “How so?”
“She has a tattoo of a dragon on her left shoulder blade. Or so she said.”
“Well, Sherlock, getting women to shed their clothes is your specialty, not mine. Stop this nonsense. You’re full of shit. Quit fantasizing and use those biceps to move that prop over to the runway.”
What a delicious scenario that was—getting Eve to drop her pants, to hear how sweet those mewls of passion would sound against her mouth and tongue. She wanted, yearned, and ached to fuck her.
She needed to press their naked bodies together just one time.
Without a doubt, Jodi knew she was going to fuck the fashion mogul, the woman who sought her voice several times a week, before this so-called hell week ended.
On that, she’d bet her entire fortune.
Chapter Seven
Eve pulled the navy blue thigh-high dress over her head, then wiggled it down over her hips and pushed up her breasts.
“There you go. Push the girls out. Zara will love them staring back at her all night.” Khandi mocked her from her sitting position in the middle of Eve’s bed.
Eve gasped and released her hold, then adjusted the deep scoop neck to minimize her cleavage. The last thing she wanted was Zara ogling her tits. Hell, come to think of it, the last thing she wanted was to be on a dinner date with her one-week fuck. Period.
Zara still brought in a trail of followers, all loaded with thick wads of cash. As promised, she would make nice with Zara for the sake of the sales. Even if that meant enduring an entire evening in her company for the resulting sales spike. She’d suffered worse opponents, though none that she’d fucked.
Satisfied, she’d tucked the “girls” securely back into place, Eve nodded approval and turned to face Khandi. “Will this do?” Eve held her arms to the side as she turned in a circle.
“Do for whom? Zara? She wants you out of your clothes, so she doesn’t care what you wear or how you look in it.” Khandi rolled onto her back and peeled the paper from a fruit roll-up. “By the way, did you notice the hottie with your new prop designer today?” She wiggled her brow suggestively. “Also, did you read the tabloid I left on your bathroom counter?”
