Wanted By You

by Steph Nuss

  "But my dad didn't ask you to play a game of basketball after dinner," I retorted. I sat back down on the other couch and waited for Paige to arrive. She'd know what I should wear. She was like the clothes whisperer.

  "Harper's not gonna care what you're wearing. She just wants to meet you. She wants to get to know you—the woman her brother's madly in love with."

  "Oh, save that crap for your next lover," I said, rolling my eyes at him.

  He moved over to the couch where I was sitting and wrapped his arms around me. "There's not gonna be a next lover," he murmured. Every time his warm, rugged voice vibrated against my neck, sparks spiraled down my spine and made me melt. His mouth found mine and I waved my invisible white flag in surrender. How could I not surrender to the hot, lightning kisses that I craved? Whenever his lips seared mine and I felt the burn of his sexy stubble against my skin, it felt like he was electrocuting my soul with his touch. He moved me into his lap, gripping my bare ass underneath my robe, and I savored the delicious mint flavor of his gum as I crashed into him over and over again—sucking, teasing, and biting; brushing all my worries aside.

  Then the door to my apartment slammed shut and I looked up to see Paige standing with her arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head at me.

  "I thought you were mad at him," she said, walking into the living room.

  Carter's laugh vibrated against my lips, and I sat back on my heels and caressed his beautiful face. "I can't stay mad at him."

  "Well, I can," she said. "Jen Harper's my favorite designer, Carter! I kinda hate you right now for not telling us sooner."

  "Nobody asked!" he reiterated as I stood up from the couch.

  "Come on," I said calmly, hooking my arm through Paige's. "Help me find something to wear."

  As we walked out of the living room Carter shouted, "You look beautiful no matter what you wear!"

  "Love you!" I replied, laughing.

  "You know I love you and I'm happy for you guys," Paige said, walking down the hall. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't kinda excited about coming over and seeing you mad at him; watching him grovel a little bit … and then I walk in on you two making out."

  I laughed and leaned against her arm. "Oh, I can't wait until the love bug bites you someday."

  "I will squish that damn bug under my heel before I let that happen to me," she said definitively.

  She walked into my closet and I took a seat on my bed. There was no use in helping her wade through my walk-in closet. She knew what I had in there better than I did. She had helped me buy it all and organize it by color and season. "Okay, so are you guys dressing up and going out for dinner or is this just a casual, stay-at-home dinner?"

  "Casual," I said. "We're having dinner at her place. You saw what Carter has on. He's just wearing jeans and a shirt."

  "Okay," she said, moving over to my pile of jeans. "Let's pair these skinny jeans." She threw dark denim at me and then moved over to the fall and winter sections and shuffled through the sweaters "With this khaki green H&M sweater." She removed the sweater from its hanger and threw it over to me. Then she grabbed a pair of tall, brown leather boots with a low heel and handed them to me. "I love these boots," she said.

  I smiled and looked down at the outfit she picked out for me. "You don't think wearing jeans from her collection is a big deal?"

  "Nah," Paige said, wrinkling her nose. "I think if you wore an entire outfit by her, you'd look like you were trying too hard for her approval. Wear this outfit and make her fall in love with you because you are my friend and we must get in good with Jen Harper … or Harper Jennings … or whatever the hell she wants you to call her."

  I laughed and started changing as she went through my jewelry box. "So, what do you know about her?"

  "Well, from what I've read on Google," Paige said quietly, holding up a pair of earrings to her ears, "the past few years have been kinda rough for her."

  "What do you mean?" I whispered, slipping on my boots.

  "She went to rehab back in 2011 for bulimia," she whispered, looking back at me somberly. "She checked out after six months, claiming to be fully recovered, but after that she stopped doing fashion shows, which only made the media think her claims of recovery were false. But she just had her first show since rehab last month at Fashion Week, and the media say she's on the—and I quote—‘road to health and happiness.' I watched an interview she gave before her show and, from what I could tell, she's already happy and healthy. She sounded sweet and personable; said she took the break from showcasing her work to focus more on her designs and her family and friends. That's all I know."

  "Wow," I said, sitting down on the bed next to her, completely stunned.

  "Oh, she's also single and hasn't had a serious boyfriend since before rehab," Paige said, tapping around on her phone. "But she's best friends with this hot actor named Max Waters. There're several pictures of them together but their reps confirm that they're just friends." She turned the phone toward me so I could see him, and she laughed. "Doesn't he kinda look like a skinnier, less bulky, less tattooed version of Maverick?"

  "He does." I laughed, and stood before her. "Okay, how do I look?"

  "Beautiful, of course," she said, handing me the jewelry she had picked out. "Now, put these on, be yourself, and try to get us front row seats to February's Fashion Week."

  "Ha, very funny," I said, putting on the earrings.

  "Okay, well, at least try to bring it up. Maybe she'll invite you because you're with Carter."

  "The show is months away. I just want her to like me," I said, checking my appearance one more time in the mirror.

  "She will," Paige smiled, pulling me away from the mirror. We walked back down the hall to the entryway and she gave me a hug. "Let me know how it goes, okay?"

  "Will do. Thanks for coming over to help. I really appreciate it."

  "That's what best friends are for," she said, gazing into the living room. Carter turned his head and smiled at us, and Paige shook her head in feigned anger. "June, let's give it at least a week."

  "Wait!" he said, jumping up from the couch. He sauntered over to us wearing a charming grin, and kissed my cheek. "You look beautiful."

  "Yes, you're welcome," Paige said.

  He laughed and then held his phone out to us.

  Carter: When's your next show?

  Harper: The next FW in February.

  Carter: Do you think you could hook me up with three tickets for Elly and her friends whenever they're available?

  Harper: Absolutely!

  "I don't know what "FW" means, but—" he started to say.

  "Oh. My. God!" Paige yelled, throwing her arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

  He smiled at me with wide eyes and lightly patted her on the back. I shook my head, laughing, and clued him in. "FW stands for Fashion Week. New York has two of them every year—one in February and one in September—and they're very, very exclusive."

  "They're my two favorite weeks of the entire year," Paige said, releasing him. She grabbed his face, her blue eyes wild with excitement. "I kinda feel like kissing you right now."

  "Please don't," he laughed, backing away from her. "So, are we good?"

  "We're better than good. We're great!" she said, sliding her purse up on her shoulder. She smiled at me. "You realize you can never break up with him now, right?"

  "Dammit!" I said.

  She laughed and opened the door to leave. "Have a good night, and thanks for the tickets, June!"

  "No problem," he said, smiling and grabbing my purse for me. "You ready?"

  "Thank you," I said, pressing a light kiss against his smiling lips. "That was very sweet of you, but she would've eventually gotten over you not telling her about your sister."

  "I know," he said with a shrug.

  "Okay," I said, taking his hand in mine. "Let's go."

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, when we stepped off the elevator and into his sister's luxurious penthouse
, she was right there to greet us.

  "Hey, guys! Come on in," she said, smiling from ear to ear.

  "Elly, this is Harper," Carter said. "Harper, this is Ellyson Evans."

  She pulled me in for a sisterly hug I wasn't expecting, and when she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, my nerves faded away. Going through my teen years without my mom made me wish I'd had an older sister. Someone like Paige, who put together outfits for me and took me shopping in places that sold more than just Nike gear. Instead, I grew up with Maverick, my pseudo older brother slash best friend, and since he was no help with any of the girly stuff, I relied on his mom.

  "It's such a pleasure to finally meet you! Carter's told me so much about you."

  "It's nice to meet you, too," I said, completely awe-struck by her enthusiasm. She was the celebrity and here she was excited to meet me … the psychologist.

  She pulled away and walked us down the hallway and into her living room. Her home was beyond gorgeous; dark and mysterious. Imitation candles lit the halls, illuminating the light limestone walls along with the sun coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I'd never seen a penthouse look so modern and so old-fashioned at the same time. As she grabbed drinks, I took note of all her Jennings features. She shared the same dark brown hair and eyes as Carter, as well as his year-round perfect tan. Her hair fell past her shoulders in soft, chestnut waves, and she was tall, with lovely curves.

  "Your home is beautiful, Harper," I said, as she walked back in carrying three beers.

  "Thanks," she said, sitting down across from us. "I wanted someplace unique, with an excellent view of Central Park."

  I smiled and took a sip of my beer. I loved that she served us beer. Not some fancy, expensive wine that tasted like crap or some weird cocktail I'd never heard of.

  "What have you been up to today, H?" Carter asked, taking a swig from his beer. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to his side.

  She smiled at us and threw her design pad onto the coffee table. "Oh, just doodling some sketches here and there. I cleaned my studio, got a workout in. Nothing exciting." She crossed her legs and gave Carter a questioning look.

  "Yes, I told her you design clothes," he said, pinching my side.

  "I'm actually a huge fan of your work," I said, unabashedly pointing to my jeans. Like I said, she made all my worries flutter away.

  "So am I." She laughed lightly, tugging on the pair of black Jen Harper jeans she had on. "But I'm actually thinking about taking some time off after February's fashion show."

  "Oh, may I ask why?" I asked. She was the reason I had clothes to wear to work. I never had to try on her stuff because everything always fit my figure perfectly. Paige would probably have a panic attack if she took a hiatus.

  "I have other dreams I want to fulfill," she said, smiling over at Carter.

  "Like what?" I asked with a faint smile. It sounded like I was putting her through a game of twenty questions, but I couldn't help it. She was famous, and she was Carter's sweet, older sister, and it already felt like she knew more about me than I knew about her.

  "Like falling in love and getting married and having babies," she answered with a wistful smile. "Don't you want all those things, Elly?"

  I ran my hand along Carter's thigh and smiled at him, and he placed a soft kiss against my temple. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

  Her smile widened and she stood up. "Well, I think dinner's ready if you guys are hungry."

  "It scares me that you don't know whether or not it's ready," Carter teased, as we followed her into the kitchen.

  "Oh, ignore him," she said, laughing. "I'm not the greatest cook in the family—that would be Bayler—and the professor here likes to joke whenever I attempt to make a meal."

  "'Attempt' being the key word." Carter laughed and I punched his arm.

  "Be nice," I said under my breath.

  "I am being nice," he said, raising his brows at me. "You haven't tried her cooking. She once asked me how to make instant oatmeal."

  "I'm right here, Carter!" Harper laughed. She pulled the chicken breasts out of the oven and had corn on the cob and wheat rolls already waiting on top of the stove. Everything smelled fantastic, and I certainly wasn't one to judge anyone's cooking skills since I ate cereal for nearly every meal back in college. She smiled at us and reassured Carter, "I actually called Grandma Ceci and she helped me with this, so it should taste amazing."

  I filled my plate with food and followed Carter into the dining room, to a rectangular glass table underneath a large glass chandelier. He pulled out my chair for me and kissed my cheek, and then took a seat next to me. Harper sat down across from me and raised her beer bottle in the air.

  "What are we toasting?" Carter asked.

  "Love, of course," she said, her soft voice cheery. Her eyes shimmered with happiness as she smiled at us, looking back and forth between us. In that moment, I saw the same look in her eyes that Tessa had in hers when she described our wedding day. A look of hope. Hope that one day she'd have everything she read about in romance novels. That the perfect guy would walk into her life and fall madly in love with her, say and do the most romantic things, and want to spend the rest of his life with her. A hope for true love.

  Carter smiled at me and I felt the love he had for me in that single look; in the way it felt like his eyes cradled my heart, their warmth making it beat faster. He moved a piece of my hair out of my face and reached for my hand under the table.

  "To love," she said, smiling, "And the people we share it with and the people who make us fall into it."

  "To love," I said, smiling back at her. Carter tightened his grip on my hand and in a deep, strong voice, he said, "To love," but it felt like he meant, "To Elly," and I fell in love with him all over again.

  We clinked our bottles together and then started eating. Carter and I praised Harper for a job well done on the chicken. We ate in silence for a few moments, and I analyzed her eating habits because Paige's words about her time in rehab played in my head as our forks clanked against the china. Her plate was filled with good-sized portions, and she ate her food slowly, savoring each bite, setting her fork down every now and then, all of which were healthy eating habits.

  "Elly, has Carter told you about our parents' anniversary party coming up?"

  "Yeah," I said, with a nod at him. "He mentioned it the other day." Along with a warning about how pretentious their parents could be.

  "So, are you guys planning on coming?"

  "Yep," Carter said, squeezing my thigh underneath the table.

  "Good!" She exclaimed. "I hope you don't mind, but I made you something to wear for the party."

  "Really?!" I asked excitedly, almost choking on my food. First tickets to Fashion Week and now a dress made just for me.

  "Well, I made gowns for Bayler and Mom and myself, so I wanted to make you something, too."

  Throughout the rest of dinner, Harper and Carter talked about their family; mostly their grandparents and who else would be at the party. It sounded like I would be meeting the whole Jennings crew, along with a bunch of family friends and people who worked for their company.

  Once we were done eating, Harper and I cleaned up while Carter made himself comfortable in front of the TV in her living room.

  Harper peeked across the island, checking to see if he was paying any attention, and then asked, "Do you wanna try your dress on?"

  "Absolutely!"

  She led me back to her studio and pulled out a long, emerald green dress from a black garment bag. To say it was gorgeous was an understatement. To say it was just another dress from one of Jen Harper's collections was an even bigger understatement. This dress was breathtakingly beautiful, full of fierce, elegant details. I quickly stripped out of my clothes and stepped into her creation.

  "If you don’t like something, tell me," Harper said, walking around me and admiring her work. "I don't want you to worry about hurting my feelings. I want you to love what you're wearin
g and be comfortable in it. Our parents' parties tend to last a long time. If you want something changed, just say the word."

  I nodded and continued looking at myself in the mirror. Words could not describe how quickly I fell in love with the dress. I felt reborn, swaddled in emerald green chiffon that looked amazing with my ivory skin and red hair. The neck of the dress was a plunging V and the back was cut to just above my butt, exposing most of my back. The skirt was flowy, slit up to my right thigh. There wasn't a single thing I wanted to change about it. I wanted to wear this dress every day for the rest of my life. It made me feel sexy, like I’d just had a gallon of sex appeal pumped into my veins.

  "I wanted to give you something you could move around in," she said, standing in front of the large, three-way mirror. "Something that was a little sexy but still very elegant. I know you're showing a lot of skin, but November in Texas isn't nearly as cold as it is in New York. And I really love this color on you. The emerald green looks phenomenal with your skin and hair." She smiled at me and met my gaze in the mirror. "What do you think? Do you like it?"

  "I like it!" Carter shouted from behind me. I turned and saw him walking into the studio with a look in his eyes that made every hair on my body stand on end as he looked at me.

  I stepped off the platform and gave Harper a hug. "Thank you so much, Harper. I am in love with this dress."

  "Oh, you're welcome!" she said, standing back to look me over again. "I'm glad you like it."

  Carter took my hand and slowly twirled me around, admiring the dress and the way the skirt flowed. "You take my breath away, you know that?" I blushed at the sound of his deep, delicious voice—the same voice he used during sex—and he pulled me up against him and stroked my bare back. "You're showing a lot of skin. I like it."

  "I can tell," I murmured, my eyes widening with amusement.

  He touched me as if for the first time, handling me with care, like I was a priceless piece of art, memorizing all the ways he could access my body through the dress, running his index finger along the plunging neckline while his other hand slid up the slit along my thigh. I would wear this dress just for him the night of the party. I couldn’t wait to see how sexy he looked in a tuxedo.