“This dress was not only meant to be worn, it was meant to be seen by millions of Rochella’s readers.” Henry flashed her a quick smile. “So, is it an official yes that you’ll be one of my Southern gems?” He moved closer to her, and she inhaled his expensive cologne. Was this how “rich” smelled? And why did she prefer Jesse’s more manly, rugged scent to expensive?
Jesse. The bane of my existence. And my future fake husband, whether ya like it or not.
“It’s a yes,” Ella whispered, her voice not in commission for a hot second. “But please don’t tell anyone about the wedding. We really do want to wait until New Year’s Eve for everyone to find out.” And prevent a possible psychopath from showing up sooner than we’re prepared.
“Who the hell are you?” Jesse’s voice could have melted metal.
Ella tensed, and she didn’t have to turn and face Jesse to know that the sight of her alone with another man, especially a stranger, had triggered his possessive instincts. The sound of his cowboy boots thundering across the wood floor made that perfectly clear.
Rory was right. Jesse couldn’t commit to Ella, but he also didn’t want anyone else to have her.
“Are you the fiancé?” Henry turned with a smile and extended a hand, obviously unaware that her “fiancé” was a dangerous man.
When Ella finally put eyes on Jesse, his jaw was so tight he could probably cut diamonds with his teeth. This was the man she’d seen stalk her way on the dance floor in that New York City nightclub when a guy had touched her without her consent. He was a man who could kill, possibly without remorse.
Her body grew cold at the idea. Had he ever done more than just punch one of the guys who used to grab her ass at the bars?
And why did she feel guilty for wondering?
“This is Henry Rochella. I just told him about our surprise wedding,” Ella finally said, clearing the horrible thoughts from her head. “I also mentioned you’d be coming to Paris with me,” Ella quickly added, hoping Jesse would keep his trap shut and not embarrass her in front of Henry.
She wouldn’t put it past him to do something like take her over his knee for disobeying him in moving forward with the marriage idea after he’d rejected it.
“You said yes,” Jesse said slowly, fire in his eyes that she’d gone against his orders. Not only had she committed to Paris, but she’d announced their fake wedding—the fake wedding plan he refused to go along with an hour ago.
“I did.” Ella sidestepped Henry, who’d lowered his hand, sensing Jesse had no intention of a formal hello. Or any kind of hello, for that matter.
“Looks like you might need some time alone.” Henry switched his focus back to Ella. “I’ll see you at the party, and well, the wedding.” He tipped his head and nodded at Jesse on his way out. Ella couldn’t blame him for not wanting to tango with a man who looked like a bull about to charge.
And maybe she didn’t want to be alone with Jesse either.
Once the door clicked shut, Jesse drew his hands to his hips, but his eyes quickly cut to the gown. And she swore his anger and bluster faltered. His brows dipped, and an expression that looked a lot like despair took over his handsome features. He was a different kind of handsome than Henry. Henry had a polished look. Even the cleft in Henry’s chin gave off a sophisticated, billionaire vibe.
But Jesse . . . Jesse was rugged-handsome. Dangerous-handsome. Panty-soaking handsome.
He hadn’t had a haircut in forever, but the longer hair worked for him. And if she had to choose only one celebrity to compare Jesse to, even though in her head he was an original, it’d be to a bearded Liam Hemsworth. Similar body type, face shape, and bone structure. But Jesse still had a bit more of the “grr factor,” as she called it.
“We’re not getting married.” The grit in his tone was like an invisible hand guiding her toward him. She was prepared to rebut, but when his startling blue eyes pinned her with a harsh look, she remained quietly captured in the moment.
There was something about the way he stared at her as she stood in front of the wedding dress that had her wanting to cry instead of fight.
She took an uneasy step back, worried she’d do something crazy. Punch him or beg him for their first kiss. “I’m going to Paris, so if you want to keep me safe there, you are fake marrying me, and we’re dealing with this psychopath on my schedule,” she said, finding her voice again. “I want to be as far away from my family and friends as possible to keep them out of this too. And with any luck, we’ll draw the asshole out within a few weeks, and then we’ll get fake divorced.” She started to turn, but he grabbed hold of her arm, halting her.
His chest heaved with harsh breaths as he examined her like he might toss her over his shoulder and carry out his earlier promise to tie her up in a room to keep her safe.
Ella sighed. “I’m going to tell my mom. And she’s going to have a hard time believing this.” She thought back to her conversation with her mom in the stables not too long ago. “But I don’t want her to know the real reason we need to marry. She’ll worry, and I’d rather her just . . .”
“No, Ella Mae. I don’t know if I need to give you an answer in every language I know, but this isn’t happening.”
She set her eyes on the hand wrapped around her arm, but he didn’t take the hint and let her go. “You can fake marry another woman, but that won’t remove the target from my head, remember?” she softly reminded him, hoping to win him over with honey rather than vinegar. “Besides, no one will believe that you’re in love with her. That she’s ‘the one.’ Just like no one really believed that I . . .”—she lowered her eyes to the wood floors—“with Brian.”
She thought he’d release her after that, but he kept hold of her as if he’d never let go. “I already told you I won’t use you as bait.”
Ella faked a laugh. “At this point, if he knows your name, then he most likely knows mine. If he truly wants revenge, I’m not actually bait. I’m the target.” She lifted her head but couldn’t find it in her to look him in the eyes. “Is that why you stayed away from me? Why you felt you could only give me the weekend in New York?” she asked softly. “You’re a danger to me?”
He was quiet for a moment before answering, “Mostly. But . . .”
That unfinished line of thought was going to screw with her, and she knew he’d leave his words hanging in the air just out of reach. Like always.
“And I didn’t think you could ever forgive me once you learned the truth. I have a lot of blood on my hands. And I’m still . . . broken.”
Ella swallowed the lump of emotion lodged in her throat and lifted her chin, surprised that he’d opened up to her. It was a small sliver of an opening, but it was more than he usually gave.
His confession also had him pulling his hand free and taking two steps away, his attention snagging on the dress once again. “Was that what you were going to wear for Brian?” His voice was hoarse, like his words were stuck in the muck, and he had to pull and pull to get them out.
“No, I made this long before I met him,” she said. “I bought something off the rack to wear for him.” She stood alongside Jesse and stared at the dress, and a weird quiet filled the room.