God. That laugh. That smile. That dimple.
Hell…I should have asked him to stop.
I knew I wasn’t the woman meant for him,
My best friend was.
But then, he offered himself to me on a silver platter,
I touched, I tasted, I felt, I couldn’t deny myself anymore…
And all the reasons that I should have said no for,
Well…let’s just say ‘wrong started feeling so right.’
And now, my best friend knows my secret,
The one that’s going to be out in nine months.
She just doesn’t know who the father is!
What the hell did I land myself into?
PROLOGUE: POPPY
Fabric swirled around me. Chiffon and tulle, velvet and French lace. In sweet nudes and pastels and then vibrant, shocking crimson and chartreuse. It was a storm of color and texture and I was trapped in the middle of it.
I looked down, surprised to see my sharp, fabric shears held in the palm of my hand, and then I was surprised that I was surprised. I always had my tool kit on me, usually tied fashionably around my curvy waist in the black leather and tasseled bag I had made specifically for that purpose.
The fabric moved faster and faster, more violently as I lurched after it, scissors upraised as I tried to catch it, to cut it, but it was always just out of reach. Suddenly, it was tangled around my ankles, tripping me in my vintage lace up boots.
I tried to catch myself as I stumbled, desperately fighting to stay on my feet. Slashing at the fabric with the shears did nothing. The fabric wouldn’t be cut. It wouldn’t budge. If anything, it just drew tighter and tighter, winding around my wrists and pinning my arms to my sides.
Panic rose like bile in my throat and I could taste it, sour and awful as I tried to open my mouth and scream for help but there was no one else there. Just tons and tons of delicate fabrics, squeezing me to death. I was falling. Lights started to sparkle like fireworks in front of my eyes as the oxygen was slowly cut off from my brain.
“So…pretty.” I whispered hoarsely before falling into a pit of pitch black nothingness.
I woke up with a gasp, kicking violently at the thin material of the sheet that had gotten itself wrapped around my legs, trapping the entire lower half of my body.
“What the actual hell?” I asked out loud, my head throbbing painfully. I was surprised to find my throat sore and rough feeling as I tried to make sense of the room I was in.
It was floor to ceiling beige, and not the good kind of beige that can be paired with leather mules and a skin tight skirt and look chic as hell. It was the bad kind. The knock off, early nineties, tasteful pant suit with shoulder pads beige.
I wrinkled my nose at the offensive hue, continuing my inventory of the sparse space. Blinds covered the windows, making it impossible to tell what time it was. An oversized clock hung next to a placid painting of two ducks flying over a pond, proclaiming it was just after ten. Whether that was am or pm was a mystery to me. I was in a small, uncomfortable bed, with a tiny table next to it.
The beeping distracted me, and I glanced up to see a monitor with numbers flashing in bright red and green font overhead. There were tubes and wires sticking out everywhere, and my gaze followed one all the way down to the I.V. stuck in my arm.
Shock erupted inside me and my hand was reaching to pull out the IV before I even realized I was moving.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We’ve already had to re-stick you twice because you kept pulling it out in your sleep. It’s going to leave some nasty bruises.”
I looked over in dumb surprise as the older woman walked towards me. She was in her mid-fifties, her gingerbread colored hair pulled up in a messy bun and wearing aqua green scrubs that did nothing for her.
“Where…What…?” I stopped myself, fully aware that I was making absolutely no sense and waited until I was once again capable of forming complete sentences. Besides, I could answer those first two myself. Where? A hospital. What? Me, confused, sore in all the wrong places, and bone tired in this awful hospital bed.
“Why am I here?” I asked as calmly as I could, resisting the urge to tug at the IV. I did not do well with needles. I settled for avoiding looking at where it was stuck into my arm, as if that would somehow make it less real.
The Nurse gave me a look over her oval shaped glasses before glancing at the chart that was hanging at the foot of the bed.
“You passed out, knocked your head pretty bad. A few bumps and bruises from the fall but nothing broken.” She said matter of factly before stepping over to take note of the numbers that still flashed on the screen above my head.
“Wait, I fell and knocked myself out?” I couldn’t remember any of that.
“No, you passed out from exhaustion, dehydration, and stress. You hit your head when you fell. No stitches needed but I’m sure you’ve got one hell of a goose eye.”
I reached up, my fingers gingerly touching the large bump on the back of my head. I winced, blinking away the tears of pain that threatened, focusing instead on getting answers. Because the nurse wasn’t making any sense at all.
“What do you mean I passed out? I don’t have any medical issues. I’m as healthy as…well, as a very healthy person.” I refused to compare myself to a horse. I’d spent my childhood being called names like ‘cow’ and ‘heifer’ because of my weight and I sure as hell wasn’t about to compare myself to a barnyard animal.
I smoothed the thin sheet over my ample hips. After I’d hit puberty, that weight had turned into lush, hourglass curves and even though it had taken me years to get there, I loved my body. Hell, I’d turned a career into loving my body, showing it off as one of the few plus sized models walking the catwalk. And now I got to do what I was truly passionate about. Design high end fashion for women who looked like me. Women with curves, and maybe an extra roll or two. The type of bodies that were usually ignored by the fashion industry.
“I’m Barbara Lewis, by the way. I’ll be your nurse during the day shift while you’re here.” The nurse said, then gave me another one of those looks over the tops of her glasses, “That means I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
I gave her my best, most innocent looking smile. By the look on her face, she wasn’t buying it for minute. Smart lady.
“Ms. Lewis…Can I call you Barbara? Barbara, I really need to get going, actually, so if you could just give me whatever paperwork needs to be signed and maybe tell me where my clothes are, I’ll just get myself right out of your hair.”
The nurse just stared at me and my slipped a little but I wasn’t about to be intimidated, or spend another moment in this hospital. I needed to get back to work.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that Doctor Williamson has ordered you on bed rest and observation for at least three days. And what the Doc says, I do.”
The name rang several of my bells but I was too shocked at what Nurse Barbara was saying to pay attentions.
“Three days? Three days! That’s…that’s impossible. I can’t stay here for three days. I have work to do! I have…”
“You’ve already been here for nearly one already,” Barbara said with a shrug. “You’ve been out for a while. We’ve been pumping you with fluids to get your hydration levels back to normal. When was the last time you drank any water?”
“Water?” I stared at her dumbly. “I drink coffee.” I actually survived on several pots of strong, black coffee a day but I wasn’t about to tell her that. Especially with the accusing way she was already looking at me.
“Just coffee?” She clicked her teeth, marking it down on the chart, “No wonder your heart rate was through the roof when you were brought in. I’ll let Doctor Williamson know. He’ll be in to see you shortly.”
There was that name again, setting off a tiny orchestra of bells and chimes and whistles, but my head was pounding now, making it hard
to focus on anything but the pain. I grabbed my temple and the nurse gave me a look of concern.
“How’s that head of yours feeling, hon? I can give you something for the pain. You fell pretty hard.”
“Yes. Please. Give me something.” I whimpered, swallowing against a sudden wave of nauseous. The older woman stepped closer, adding something to the I.V. that made the pain flee so quickly that I didn’t even care that there was a needle sticking out of my arm. Well, not that much anyway. I still couldn’t look directly at it without wanting to rip the thing out.
As the pain rushed away from the shores of my mind like a tide receding back into the ocean, my thoughts were left muddled and water-logged.
I tried to remember what had happened the night before, how I had ended up here. The last thing I could remember was being backstage at a fashion show, pinning up one of my designs. One of the other models had stepped on the trail of the curve hugging dress with her six inch stiletto heels and ripped a massive hole in the delicate as porcelain lace.
I’d had only seconds to repair the damaged design before sending the model down the runway and then…nothing. I couldn’t remember anything after that, besides waking up lying in this uncomfortable hospital bed. The harder I tried to remember, the more my thoughts fractures, sending dull throbs of pain through my head once more.
My eyes slid shut and I let out a wordless groan, letting my head drop into my hands as I tried to remember.
“Is your head still hurting you? I thought Ms. Lewis had given you something.”
Oh my god. That voice! It echoed through my body in a wave of tingling shivers, its familiar deep, husky rasp sending equal parts dread and joy crashing through me to congregate in the pit of my stomach in a confusing dance.
“Nate?” I asked hesitantly, moving my fingers apart just enough to peek through them. Yep. It was him. Standing right there in front of me. In the gorgeous, olive toned, too handsome for my own good flesh. Doctor Williamson. That’s why the name had sounded familiar. Nate Williamson.
“Nate, I, uh…I didn’t know you worked at this hospital.” I finished slowly, trailing off as I fought the blush that threatened to stain my cheeks a dark cherry red. Damn my fair, freckled complexion.
“Turns out, I do.” He joked on a laugh that all of my lady parts standing up at attention. God, that laugh. That smile. That dimple. It was almost too much for me to take in my diminished state.
He walked closer into the room, and even in the shapeless green scrubs and white doctor’s coat his broad shoulders seemed to take up all the space in the hospital room.
“I was waiting to hear that you’d woken up.”
“You were?” I asked dumbly, staring up at him, so flustered that I couldn’t get any more words out. Which was ridiculous. I always had something to say. Some sharp quick. A sarcastic come back. The last word was my holy grail. But now, laying there in that bed, staring up at him, my tongue felt thick and cumbersome and my thoughts were more tangled now than before.
It was exactly like the first time I’d met him over a year before. Thalia had invited me to one of her parent’s fancy yacht club social climbers’ parties. I didn’t want to go. There was nothing I hated more than having to kiss other people’s asses, let alone in a bikini.
She had convinced me. She’d said it would be the perfect opportunity to network for our brand, get the word out about our new high-end design label and find some backers for our budding business.
I had been chatting with Thalia’s very wealthy aunt about our business launch when I’d seen Nate out of the corner of my eye. Tall, broad shoulders, killer smile, and dark eyes that had melted me on the spot.
Seeing him had made a shockwave fire through my system like a lightning bolt, my tongue dried up, and I froze mid-pitch as I watched him walk closer. And closer. His dark gaze danced over my own deep blue and for a moment everyone else disappeared. No more socialites or wealthy elite. It was just me, and this dangerously edible man in ripped jeans and an old t-shirt.
For that second, as our eyes met, he looked as shocked as I felt. And then Thalia had thrown herself into his arms, kissing him with wild abandon before introducing him as her new boyfriend, Doctor Nate Williamson of the Long Grove Williamsons.
I tried to banish the x rated fantasies that had already started playing in my head but every time I saw him after that just made it harder until I avoided doing anything where the two of them would be there together.
Thalia was my best friend, we’d gone through hell and back trying to make it in the cut throat modelling industry, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt our friendship. But damn, Nate drove me crazy. He made my body feel like it was vibrating just by being in the same room.
Avoidance had been the better part of valor for me, and I hadn’t seen him in almost six months, so it was a shock to my system to have him standing in front of me now, staring down at me with that grin of his.
Logically, I knew I shouldn’t want him. I knew it was terrible and it probably made me a terrible person but I was damned if I knew what to do about. If anything, the attraction was more intense now that ever, and the pain meds the nurse had given me were starting to make me feel like my inhibitions had taken off and escaped without me.
“Hey there, Poppy,” Nate rasped as he stopped beside the bed, so close I could reach out and touch him. Oh, the places I wanted to touch him.
“Hey there,” I grinned up at him, feeling more than a little loopy all the sudden but it was better than feeling awkward and guilty. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”
“I see the meds are starting to work their magic. I’ll make it quick.”
“I should actually…go. Yeah, I should go,” I said, fighting to form the sentence. “I have so much work to do…”
“Poppy, you had a psychogenic episode and gave yourself a very serious concussion.” Nate said, his brows narrowing, his jaw tensing. What I liked to think of as his serious face. It was just so darned cute. “You had a massive panic attack and blacked out, hitting your head in the fall. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. A few inches to the left you would have landed on a sewing kit full of needles and scissors.”
“I did not have a panic attack,” I scoffed up at him, “I’ve never had a panic attack in my life! That’s just…that’s ridiculous, Nate.”
“I have it right here. And your assistant, what’s his name?”
“Jefferson.”
“Right, Jefferson. He saw the whole thing happen. He said you’ve been working yourself to death for months now, not eating well, not sleeping. Besides the concussion, you were severely dehydrated, your pulse was elevated and thread, you heart rate was too high.”
“I’m just busy,” I answered with a nonchalant shrug. Of course I have been working hard. We were coming up to the end of our first year in business and I wanted to make sure it was going to work. I would make sure that it did, work as hard and as long as I had to.
“It’s more than that Poppy. Busy people don’t pass out due to stress.” He gave me a long look and I shivered under that dark, depthless gaze. I wanted to lose myself in that gaze.
“Nate,” I cajoled, shooting him my best smile, “You know it’s nothing. So maybe I forgot to drink enough water and my blood pressure crashed. No big deal. I really do need to go.”
Jefferson was probably back at the small studio I leased on Olympic Boulevard, near L.A.’s fashion district. He wouldn’t know what to do without me there. We were already behind on the designs for the upcoming fashion show at the Garden Center. I’d have to send him down to Raina to pick up some more of that Italian lace. It was gorgeous, soft, delicate, and the most beautiful dusty mauve color that would complement the designs perfectly…
“Poppy, are you listening to me?” Nate’s voice interrupted my mental to do list and I glanced up at him.
“Yes, of course. I’m listening.”
“So you heard me say that I want you to stay another day or two for observation.�
��
“What?! No way, that’s out of the question, Nate.” I shook my head and a wave of pain-fueled dizziness hit me but I pushed through it, flipping the thin sheet off of my legs and moving to stand.
Suddenly, Nate was there, standing in front of me. His big hands were surprisingly gentle on my arms as he stopped me from getting all the way out of the bed. The slightest pressure had me falling backwards, drawing Nate even closer until he was leaning over me. His handsome, sharply featured face just inches from mine. His dark eyes melting on mine. The slight shadow of his beard. His lips. Right there. Too tempting for me to resist.
I barely had to move for our mouths to meet, and I drew in a deep, gasping breath as I tangled my hands in the fabric of his shirt, and kissed him.
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Missy Mischief Page 20
