Devil in the Details

by Morgan James

  Stabbing the button to summon the elevator, I shifted on my feet. I’d give her some space, let her clear her mind and come to terms with what had happened last night. Then we could discuss how to proceed from here. I’d be leaving soon on another deployment, anyway. I wanted to see more of her before I was shipped off this time, and I hoped after she’d had some time to think things over that she’d come to the same conclusion.

  The ding from the elevator doors opening disrupted my thoughts, and I stepped inside, punching the button to the lobby. Doubt started to creep in. Maybe this was a terrible idea. As much as I’d wanted her last night—still wanted her—would we have enough in common? We’d seemed to get along so well last night. Even when we hadn’t agreed on something, it had been more of a friendly debate rather than staunch refusal to see the other’s point of view. That was refreshing. I’d dated several women who thought their opinions were the only things worth believing. I liked a woman who knew what she wanted—just not a woman who thought her opinion was the only one that mattered. Talking with Lydia last night, I felt that she genuinely seemed to care about my thoughts and feelings on things.

  I shook off the negative thoughts as the elevator doors parted, and I strode across the gleaming, freshly polished floors to the coffee shop in the corner of the lobby. Reaching the counter, I let out a mirthless laugh. This was one of the problems of being impetuous. I had no idea how she took her coffee. Shit. Did she even like coffee, or did she prefer tea?

  I scanned the board, debating my options. Finally, I ordered a black coffee, a chai tea, and some frou-frou vanilla-flavored drink, just in case. As the barista whipped up the drinks, I automatically scanned my surroundings. A woman, her long red hair a halo of crazy, frizzy curls drifting around her head, sat at a table in the corner, phone in hand. Her eyes met mine, and I offered a small smile, then continued to rove the room. People bustled back and forth, busy even for eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. But that’s Vegas—some people were starting a day of sightseeing and tourist activities. Others were just now spilling back into the hotel after a long night out on the town.

  I smiled. The thought of doing something domestic like that appealed to me. I didn’t take much time off, and I’d like to take Lydia around a bit, explore the sights. We were only here for our friends’ bachelor and bachelorette parties, but Lydia had divulged that she hadn’t seen much of the town. I didn’t care all that much to see the sights; I just wanted to spend some more time with her before we had to part ways. She hadn’t mentioned when she was leaving. Maybe we could spend the day together. Ideas spun through my mind. My imagination must have been running overtime, because the woman stepping off the elevator reminded me of Lydia, right down to a pair of long, slender legs that I’d thoroughly enjoyed having wrapped around my waist last night; she was practically a doppelganger for my new wife.

  My brows pulled together as I looked closer. Large sunglasses covered the woman’s eyes, and she moved at a fast clip across the lobby, pulling a small suitcase behind her, a powder-blue garment bag hooked over one shoulder. My eyes narrowed, and the words Something Blue jumped off the pale blue fabric. Son of a bitch!

  Striding across the lobby, I caught up to her on the sidewalk just as she’d stepped outside. I reached out and grabbed her wrist, bringing her to a halt. Lydia jumped and let out a high-pitched squeak. I almost felt bad for scaring her—almost.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I growled.

  She slapped one hand over her heart. “Oh, my God, Xander! You scared the life out of me!”

  I snorted. “Well, it’s nice to know you at least remember my name, even as you’re trying to run out on me.” Anger seeped into my tone, and Lydia’s face contorted in aggravation.

  “Come on. You and I both know this is best. We did something stupid last night that both of us regret.”

  My grip on her wrist loosened, and I ran my fingertips up to her elbow, then back down, slipping her palm into mine and lacing our fingers together. “I don’t regret it.” Or I hadn’t anyway, not until I saw how much it bothered her. Did she really want away from me so badly that she’d run off without even saying goodbye?

  “Xander...”

  I knew I’d have to act fast if I had any chance of keeping her. “Listen. I ordered us some coffee. Let’s just go sit down and talk for a while.”

  She glanced indecisively over her shoulder toward the parking garage, and my voice turned hard. “You at least owe me that. If you want a damn annulment, you can spare ten minutes of your precious time.”

  I released her arm and turned on my heel, stalking through the lobby to the coffee shop. At my approach, the barista picked up my carryout container with the three drinks and set it on the small side counter. She started to smile as we made eye contact, but she froze when she saw my face. I could only imagine the thunderous expression; I could feel the scowl pulling at my mouth. Quickly averting her gaze, she moved to the back counter and busied herself with one of the machines. I picked up the container and strode to a table tucked into a corner furthest away from the comings and goings of the early morning crowd.

  Kicking out a chair, I placed myself with my back to the wall and sat heavily. My eyes stayed glued to the coffee cups in front of me, but I saw her approach. No, that wasn’t true. I felt her. As if my body was attuned to her, I knew the second she drew up next to the table. She stood there for a moment before pulling a chair out and sitting primly on the edge of the seat.

  I pushed the tray of drinks across the table, angry at her but mostly at myself for being such an idiot. “Coffee, tea, or some girly thing.”

  One corner of her mouth kicked up in a tiny smile. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “Tea, please.”

  I rolled my eyes. Tea. Go figure. That was just one of the many things we didn’t know about each other, wasn’t it?

  Lydia plucked the cup labeled Tea from the container and sipped tentatively. I snagged the plain black coffee and set it in front of me, transferring it from hand to hand to keep my body busy. My brain wouldn’t stop, and I needed something to do with my hands.

  Maybe this had been a fucking stupid idea. She didn’t want to be with me, that much was clear. No matter how well we’d gotten on last night, come morning she was already regretting our decision. Hell, she didn’t even remember it. And that fact alone made me believe that maybe I’d begun to regret it, too. It’d been rash, but I’d expected her to at least talk to me, not run away.

  We sipped our drinks in silence for several moments, and I listened to her breaths moving in and out of her chest. The tension between us continued to grow. What the hell had we been thinking? I almost snorted at the thought. Clearly, we hadn’t. We’d been more than half-drunk on alcohol and sexual attraction.

  “What’s your favorite color?” Her voice cut through my musings, and I lifted a brow at her. Lydia just shrugged.

  “Green.” Although as I stared into her gray eyes, I began to reconsider. My new favorite color was platinum—bright and untarnished, just like her big, beautiful eyes, surrounded by those thick, dark lashes.

  Said lashes swept against her cheeks as she glanced down at her cup. “Mine is red.”

  Interesting choice. Such a bright, vibrant color for a subdued woman like Lydia. But she’d surprised me on multiple levels last night. With me, she’d been completely uninhibited, free of her mother and dickhead ex. She’d come completely out of her shell when we’d made love, her passion lighting a fire deep inside me. We’d destroyed the bed once we’d stumbled back into her room late last night—or was it early this morning?—then repeated the act when we’d woken. Hell, had that really been less than an hour ago?

  I couldn’t get enough—being even just a few feet away from her made my blood boil with lust. All I wanted to do was kiss away her reservations, take her back to bed and treasure her for the next several hours until life came calling. And it would, all too soon. Within a week I’d be off on another deployment, she’
d be back at work in her bridal salon, and... then what?

  “Favorite movie?”

  The corners of her mouth tipped up. “Overboard.”

  The irony was not lost on me. She suddenly sobered as our situation bore down on her. She hadn’t fallen off a boat and been picked up by a near stranger, but the similarities were there. We’d been thrust together, and now we had two options: fight to make it work or walk away. I wasn’t a quitter—never had been, never would be. But I couldn’t do it alone; it would take both of us to work this out.

  I rolled my shoulders. “What do you want, Lydia?”

  Her eyes widened a fraction before dropping back to the table. “Xander, I—”

  “Listen. I’m leaving in just a few days.” Her gaze snapped back to mine. “Tell me what we’re doing. Are we going to make this work, or are you going to walk away?”

  “That’s hardly fair.” Her gray eyes narrowed to slits and her lips thinned. “This is crazy. We live in different cities; we like different things. We don’t even know anything about each other. What if we’re totally different?”

  “What if we’re exactly alike? What if we’re perfect for each other? Maybe we don’t like the same things. Do all couples agree on everything?”

  “No, but—”

  “What are we going to do, Lydia? I will do my damnedest to make this work if you will. What’s it going to be?”

  Her grip tightened on the coffee cup, and my gut clenched as I watched her chest rise and fall, her breath unsteady.

  “I just... I can’t.” The words floated out on a whisper, and my heart fell to my toes. I should have known better. Why would a beautiful woman like Lydia want a hardened, battle-scarred soldier like me? I was too hard, too rough, and she was too delicate. Maybe she was right. She was perfection, and I was lethal, deadly. I didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her, let alone have her for myself.

  I let out a harsh laugh. “Of course not.”

  Pushing back my chair, I stood abruptly and strode to the counter to pull a napkin from the holder. I scribbled down an address and stalked back to where Lydia sat. I could feel her eyes on me, but I refused to meet her stare. I dropped the napkin on the table in front of her. “Send the paperwork here.”

  Without another word, I spun on my heel and left, my long-legged stride carrying me quickly through the lobby and into the bright sunshine outside. I turned to the right and stormed toward the parking garage that housed my rental car, silently berating myself. One thing was for certain: I would never do anything impulsive like this again—never let a woman make me feel like I wasn’t good enough, worthy enough.

  I didn’t slow even when I heard her calling my name, didn’t turn around. I didn’t know exactly where I was going, but it didn’t matter. I could come back for my clothes later. Right now, I just needed to put some distance between us. Because if I saw her again, I wouldn’t be able to control myself. I’d beg her to think things over and give me a shot. But I’d already given her a choice, and she’d made her decision. She didn’t want me, and I didn’t need her.

  I rubbed a hand over my heart. Too bad I didn’t believe it.

  Chapter Five

  Lydia

  Twenty Months Later

  I spread out the cathedral-length lace train and smiled at the effect. It was beautiful. The dress was gorgeous, the veil was stunning, and everything looked perfect—so long as you didn’t look at the bride’s face.

  “It looks like a tail.” Caryn Anderson’s nose scrunched up in disdain, and I repressed a heavy sigh, just barely refraining from rolling my eyes.

  “It’s very classy. It will look perfect in St. Mary’s as you walk down the aisle. The effect will be very dramatic.”

  If there was one word in the English dictionary that Caryn was familiar with, it was drama. The woman was full of it. She was full of something else, too, but I kept that thought to myself. Caryn came from money, and lots of it. Her great-great-grandfather had owned several steel mills, and her family had made a fortune over the last couple centuries. As the demand for US steel died away, the family moved into other ventures, including technology. The woman never let me forget that I was “lower” than her, treating me like a servant more than a successful business owner.

  I’d been tempted more than once to escort the woman from the shop, but, unfortunately, she had too much influence in the area. One negative word from Caryn Anderson and my shop would fold within a month. And I needed her income now more than ever. With that thought, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin.

  “Of course, we could go with a smaller train, something less... noticeable.” I knew the strategic wording of my statement would catch Caryn’s attention—and not in a good way. Predictably, the woman’s head snapped toward me as I continued. “Lauren—” I let out a small cough as if covering a mistake. “Um, another bride had a train this length a few months ago.”

  Caryn’s eyes narrowed. Lauren Weaver-DiDonato was the woman’s archrival, and she had just been married three months earlier to the oldest son of the current Italian president. Lauren, unlike Caryn, was the sweetest person I had ever met. Although both women were socialites, Lauren devoted her time to multiple charities and organizations. Caryn devoted her time to, well, Caryn. Although she was the face of a local organization to end hunger, I’d never seen the woman lower herself so much as to walk past one of the food banks. They weren’t exactly in a part of town that Caryn frequented. In fact, she was notoriously picky. I’d heard that Caryn sent back meals every time she went out to eat, and local restaurants feared her presence. They, like me and every other small business owner in the area, were forced to play nice or suffer the consequences.

  A sneer curled over the woman’s face. “My wedding—and my dress—will be better than that tramp’s.” Caryn flicked the train behind her. “Everyone knows he should have been mine. I won’t let her steal my moment.”

  She studied her reflection in the mirror for a moment. “More. I want it longer. I want the veil longer, too. And more crystals.”

  Good God. The dress already weighed damn near forty pounds. Caryn, with her usual dramatic flair and less-than-ideal sense of fashion, had demanded the most over-the-top of styles for her dress. The cathedral train extended six feet behind her, and the expensive, delicate lace flared around her feet in a mermaid style before skimming up her body, hugging her curves. The sweetheart neckline clung to her generously enhanced breasts, dripping with hand-sewn Swarovski crystals. Three thousand and eighty-two. I would know—I’d counted every damn one. My assistant Gwen and I had taken turns sewing them on two weeks ago when Caryn had made her latest demand. Now she wanted more? She was going to blind every person in that church when she walked down the aisle.

  I attempted to do some damage control. “We could add more, but I think this understated look is perfect, don’t you?”

  It wasn’t understated by a long shot, but classy wasn’t exactly in her vocabulary.

  Caryn rolled her eyes. “Of course you would. You wouldn’t understand what someone like me needs. I’m held to a higher standard, you know. People look to me to set the bar. Everyone loves me.”

  Everyone loved to hate her, that was for sure. I refrained from rolling my eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I just told you. More crystals, as big and as many as you can fit on here. All over the train, too.”

  My eyes widened. “Well, if you want the train to be longer, I’ll need to order more lace. As for the crystals, we’ll need to stick to smaller clusters. If we put too much strain on the lace, it’ll rip.”

  Caryn whirled on me, her finger hovering in my face. “You’re just lazy and incompetent. You don’t want to do any more work. All you’ve done since I walked through the door is talk down to me and tell me what I can and can’t do.” She poked her finger at me, her long, manicured nail coming perilously close to my chest. Could I sue her for assault if she stabbed me with one of those damn things? “I’m the bri
de. I make the decisions here. I want more crystals, and you’re going to make it happen.”

  I clasped my hands together at my waist and clamped down on my anger. “We can do whatever you’d like. I’m just trying to avoid you having to spend your wedding day with a hole in your dress.”

  Caryn’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed together firmly before stalking off of the small platform. “Fix this.”

  “Can I help you take the dress off?”

  “You’ve done enough.” The words were a snarl as she slammed the dressing room door behind her. I gritted my teeth and curled my toes inside my shoes, forcing myself to stand still instead of barging into the room behind her and ripping every perfectly dyed blonde hair from her head. I couldn’t wait for this wedding to be over. It was still a month away, which was far too long in my opinion. I wondered how the poor groom felt.

  With a shake of my head, I made my way to the front of the shop, straightening gowns as I went. Though we kept many designers’ samples, most people came to me for my unique designs. A fiancée of a local baseball player had come to me a couple years ago and, after trying on almost twenty gowns, had looked despairingly at me and said she just wasn’t finding the one. Eager to help, I sat down with the young woman and sketched out some ideas. Two months later, the woman got married in my first gown made by hand. The bride sang my praises, and Something Blue was now sought-after for custom gowns.

  Brenda, the receptionist, popped her head over the desk. “Is it safe to come out now?”

  A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Not quite. She’s—” A commotion came from the back of the shop. “—on a rampage again, apparently.” I walked quickly toward the back.