by Cara Colter
She lifted it out of the box and felt the weight of it, the expense of it.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Miss McGregor, just who do you think you are?”
Instead of putting on the necklace, she put it back in the box and slammed the lid shut.
Noelle reminded herself tautly she was the woman who had been left. Because she was too predictable. And too controlling. Because she never surprised and avoided spontaneity as if it were the plague. Because she was pale and plain, not golden and exotic.
You couldn’t change that! You couldn’t change by saying yes instead of no. You couldn’t change it with a dress. Or a necklace. Had she lost her mind? She couldn’t attend a ball with Aidan Phillips! Every single person would look at her and know she was a fraud, an impersonator, an imposter. They would know that she really wasn’t sophisticated enough to pull off a dress like this.
It would show, in the barely-there makeup and in fingers that weren’t manicured. And everyone would know that despite the fact that she had been in the city for years, she was still just a girl from the country. Aidan had had her totally pegged in the first few minutes of meeting her. She was wholesome and plain. She had a horrible heartbreak, a betrayal, under her belt. A dress couldn’t fix that!
She decided to take the dress off. To put on her housecoat and see if she had any chocolate ice cream left. Aidan could go to the ball by himself.
Or she could get dressed in her old blue jeans and her flannel shirt and they could fly home early if he didn’t want to attend by himself. She doubted, though, that he would have a normal person’s reticence—read her—about entering such a gathering alone.
Suddenly she just wanted to go home to her grandfather’s. She wanted to play with the dog and eat cookies and sit by the crackling fire in her pajamas with penguins all over them. She wanted to try to build that snowman again, on a day with stickier snow, and laugh over gingerbread houses. And as night fell, she wanted to go sit in the loft, in a cushion of sweet-smelling hay, with the stars studding the sky outside the open loft door. And not to look at social media postings, either.
Her comfort zone. She wanted back into her comfort zone!
Except Aidan Phillips had invaded her comfort zone, and somehow now, each of those scenarios seemed as if it might feel oddly incomplete if he was not there. If Tess was not there.
There was a knock on the door. There was no doubt it was him. She hadn’t ordered pizza. The knock was firm, that of a man sure every door he knocked on would always be opened to him.
She actually looked for a place to hide, but of course, her place was too small to hide anywhere. It was a studio apartment. She’d rented it in a reckless effort to leave behind the space she’d shared with Mitchell. She had been willing to sacrifice size for the awesome central location. The tininess had allowed her to get rid of most of the things they had owned together. Thankfully, selling a few quality pieces had brought her some much-needed funds.
But now she could clearly see—looking around her space with its mishmash of used furniture and mismatched dishes—this was not the type of place a dress like this came out of. It was not the impression you wanted to make with a man like Aidan.
She took a deep breath and marched to the door. On her floor tiles, the shoes made a snappy sound like machine-gun fire. Despite the confidence that should have inspired, once she was at the door, her courage failed her completely. She took another deep breath, and then held her nose closed between her thumb and her pointer.
“Aidan?”
“None other.”
“I’m not feeling well. You go.”
Silence.
“Without me,” she expanded.
Silence.
“To the ball.”
Silence.
“Have fun!”
Why didn’t he say something? He was probably so used to doors being flung open for him that he was in shock. She waited, holding her breath, like a child playing hide-and-seek, trying to be invisible, trying not to be caught.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was every bit as firm as his knock had been.
“Open the door, Noelle.”
She shivered at the calm in his voice, at the expectation of obedience. “I can’t. I want you to go without me. You can come get me when it’s done. I’m sure I’ll be feeling better in a few hours, ready to go home, ready for—”
“Open the door right now, or I’m kicking it in.”
She hesitated. “You wouldn’t do that.” She forgot to plug her nose.
“Try me,” he said.
Really? Aidan Phillips did not seem like the kind of guy you wanted to challenge in that particular way. Where did you get a broken door repaired just before Christmas?
She opened the door. Just a crack. She peered out. “I can’t,” she reiterated, in her best sick voice, a convincing croak. “You need to go away.”
“I’m not going away.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I’M NOT GOING AWAY.”
Noelle shouldn’t really feel as if a statement like that was making her bones melt. After all, it was disrespectful of her right to choose.
And she certainly shouldn’t feel shaky and confused and as if her world was upside down. But having the most gorgeous man in the universe standing outside her door, threatening to break it down and then saying in that commanding tone that he was not going anywhere, was not exactly what she had bargained for when she’d decided it was harmless to do things a little differently, to let go of a little control.
There was no sense reading too much into it. I’m not going away did not mean Aidan would be around for good. There was no kind of promise of permanence in this evening. It wasn’t even a date. He’d been hasty in making that abundantly clear! He’d just stay long enough to stir up her nice, quiet life, to plant seeds of discontent, to leave her testing out a new self without the security of the old one to run back to.
This whole evening had been so ill advised. Why had she said yes? Why had she said he could pick her up here? Now Noelle realized she didn’t want him to see her modest studio suite, never mind the dress.
She put her shoulder against the door and pushed, trying to get it closed. It was a metaphor for life. Once you had opened certain doors, it was nearly impossible to close them again.
“Move your foot,” she told him.
“No. You don’t even sound sick. Were you plugging your nose?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Move your foot, or I’ll—”
“Get an ax and chop it off? You did warn me axes were dangerous.”
He had no right to be making light of this situation. And the ax? Just a reminder of how different their worlds were.
“I’ll call the police.”
“Sure you will.” His tone was ever so faintly mocking, and ever so faintly gentle. “I’ll just slip inside while you go get your phone, because it doesn’t really look like you have one hidden anywhere in that dress.”
So! He could already tell the dress was inappropriately skimpy. She let go of the door and yanked it open so suddenly he stumbled forward.
“There, are you happy?” she asked him.
He regained his balance quickly. His eyes widened. His jaw went slack. He raked an unsteady hand through his amazing hair.
She stood, feeling terribly undressed. The silence stretched. She tilted her chin at him. Naturally, he looked glorious in a beautifully cut formal tux jacket, a brilliant white linen pleated shirt beneath it. The buttons had been replaced with studs, and the cuffs sported diamond jingle-bells cufflinks that matched the ones on the necklace she had not been able to put on. He had on a red bow tie. It was too bad she wasn’t going. That shade of red would have looked very nice with her dress.
He was too big and, naturally, it made her place seem small, as if he filled every inch of it. And he was so soph
isticated. He must be looking at her shabby collections with judgment.
“Good God,” he said huskily. “Happy? Happy doesn’t begin to say it.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s not me. That’s why—”
“Do you remember that day we threw snowballs and I told you you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen?”
As if you could forget something like that!
“I was right,” he said, his voice a croak.
He didn’t appear to be noticing the humbleness of her surroundings at all. But she could not give in to the softness that made her feel toward him, as if she should just lean in and welcome whatever happened next.
“I’m not beautiful,” Noelle said. “In fact I feel utterly ridiculous. I feel like a little girl pretending to be a grown-up. I feel like a fraud. Look around. Does a dress like this come from such a place?”
He looked around, a perfunctory glance that did not take in the chipped teapot at the center of her small table, or the handmade curtains, the mismatched kitchen chairs.
His gaze came back to her and something angry and fierce snapped in his eyes. “You know what? He played on all those insecurities of yours. He made you feel less and less and less. For God’s sake, take yourself back.”
She stared at him.
“Where’s the necklace?”
Noelle felt frozen. Impatient, he glanced around, strode over to the table where she had set the box and picked it up. He came back to her.
“I—I—I changed my mind. I can’t accept it.”
“Turn around,” he growled.
She felt surrender shiver along her spine as she turned her back to him and lifted the few tendrils of hair that had escaped down her neck.
He didn’t fasten the necklace, not right away. Instead, he slowly scraped the line of her neck with his finger. She quivered from the pure and heated sensuality of his touch. He stroked her again, his palm this time, sliding over the back of her neck, possessively, leashed desire radiating from his touch.
She closed her eyes. She felt herself sink into his hand, her body sway. The necklace settled on her skin, rode slightly above the deep dip of her cleavage. The bells were heated from where his hands had held them.
He turned her around, traced the line of the necklace to the delicate swell of her breast, then let his hand fall away. He combed his hair with it.
She wished he wouldn’t do that. It caused inordinate weakness in her. Her knees felt as if they might buckle.
“It’s not up to me to make you feel beautiful, Noelle,” he said softly, his voice stern, formidable. “It’s an inside job. But it starts like this—it starts with you putting your hand through my arm and holding your head up high and recognizing you deserve to feel your own value.
“Beautiful women are a dime a dozen. Women who shine from the inside out, like you do? That’s rarer than the blue diamonds in that necklace.”
“Blue diamonds,” she stammered. “Aidan, I don’t think—”
He raised an eyebrow. He crooked his arm to her.
She hesitated, took a deep breath, took that one step toward him and then threaded her arm through his.
She instantly felt his strength. And her own.
“It’s a party,” he said, tilting his head to gaze at her. “It’s a frivolous, fun evening. It’s not a panel of judges eyeing your outfit and your performance. Though even if they did, you’d be a perfect ten.”
She could feel the steadiness of his arm entwined with hers. It felt like he was a man you could lean on when your own courage failed.
“That helps put it in perspective,” she said, managing a tremulous smile. “It really does. Thanks for talking me back from the edge.”
“I didn’t talk you back from the edge, Noelle. When you’re on the edge, you either turn back or jump.”
“I’m not sure I want to jump off any edges!”
“Really? How else do you figure out if you can fly? You might not want to, but you already did tonight.”
“Were you really going to kick the door in?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I think I could love it that you’re masterful.”
“Yeah, at times. It would probably get old after about three seconds.”
And then they were both laughing, and she felt giddy, like a child who had jumped off the high diving board for the very first time.
But instead of hitting the water, she had found she had wings. She had found she could fly.
They stepped outside. The cold should have hit her like a brick, but instead she felt warmed through. Besides, she wouldn’t be outside for long. She tried not to gape at the vehicle double-parked at the curb.
“A stretch limo?” Noelle asked. “Seriously?”
Her neighbors, in this working-class community of elegant old houses that had been cut up into multiple suites, were sneaking peeks out their windows.
A uniformed chauffeur came and opened the door for her, tipping his cap as she slid by him. Aidan took the seat next to her. He seemed quite at home in the limo. He knew exactly where the chilled champagne was kept!
“You seem to know your way around a limo,” Noelle said.
“I guess I do. There won’t be any parking for miles around the venue. And Sierra taught me you can’t ask a lady in an extraordinarily sexy dress and high heels to walk ten blocks in the cold.”
It was a reminder that he knew a lot about this intimidating world they were headed into. And it was a reminder Aidan Phillips had had another life. He’d landed on her grandfather’s ranch with his share of baggage, none of which he had offered to share with Noelle.
It was the first time since the morning they had met that he had mentioned Sierra. Noelle hoped she had an opportunity, and soon, to find out why he and Tess were such an island at Christmas. Surely they had family? If he didn’t, Sierra must have? Where were the aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins?
“When you are in the public eye,” Aidan said softly, “someone is always watching. For the mistake. For the misstep. And in this day and age they almost always have a camera.”
“Yikes,” she said. “I hope I’m not going to prove to be the misstep.”
“Relax,” he said. “Champagne?”
“Half a flute. Just so I can say I did it. Drank champagne in a limo. Lives of the rich and famous and all that.”
He laughed and complied, handing her the glass. The bubbles got in her nose. Her nervousness fled, not because of the champagne, but because he had no nervousness at all. He was going to this event in the same way he flew a helicopter: calm and confident.
“No champagne for you?” she asked.
“Not if I’m going to fly later.”
“You remind me of a cat,” she said. “Relaxed, but ready, too.”
He lifted a wicked eyebrow at her and twirled an imaginary moustache. “You never know when a mouse will come along.”
The limo slid into a line at one of Calgary’s oldest and poshest downtown hotels. Flashes from cameras were lighting the night. There was a red carpet.
She looked at some of the other people getting out of their vehicles. It wasn’t like Hollywood. It wasn’t like many of them were recognizable. She had just begun to relax when she noticed something.
People went up the red carpet and then congregated at the huge glass doors of the hotel, greeting friends, exchanging handshakes and super-sophisticated busses on proffered cheeks.
“Oh, my God, Aidan, we have to get out of here.”
“We just got here.” He followed her gaze. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone kiss you.”
“I’m not worried about getting kissed.”
“Oh, good,” he said. “Still, I think I’ll save that pleasure for myself.”
She wanted to remind him, a little churlishly, that i
t wasn’t even a date. And she wanted to get out of here. Whatever had possessed her to agree to this?
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low, picking up on her distress.
“Look at the dresses.”
He peered at them. “Nice. Not one holds a candle to yours, though.”
“There’s a reason for that. Candle. Think candle.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Candles are red. Flame red.”
Aidan looked again. “Oh, I see where you’re going with this.”
“Everyone is wearing silver. Every. Single. Woman.”
“All the better,” he said gleefully, not understanding the enormity of the fashion faux pas at all. “It’s like art. It’s your turn to be the star. Your turn to do exactly what you’ve been avoiding your entire life. Your turn to stand out.”
Their car stopped. The chauffeur was out, holding open the door for them. Aidan held out his hand.
She looked at it for a long time, and then tentatively she took it.
“Own it,” he mouthed at her.
He helped her from the car, and she stood there, feeling the boldness of the color against the silver of the winter night.
Flashes went off.
She set her shoulders and tilted her chin. Aidan put his hand around her waist, possessively.
There was a faint pattering of applause, as if people approved of her breaking the tradition, standing out, being herself.
“Own it,” he told her again, his voice husky in her ear, his breath a sensual touch on the nakedness of her neck.
And so she did. With poise she would not have known was part of her, she slipped her one arm through his, raised her other in a friendly wave to those lined up behind the barriers. She tilted her chin and smiled.
Noelle McGregor felt glorious.
Not just because she had on a gorgeous red dress.
Not because she was a light in a sea of silver.
But because she had faced something inside of her. She had faced that little voice that said, You are not good enough.
And she had banished it.
And that made her feel worthy of the glorious man who stood beside her.
