“Sure.” Andrew didn’t mind another brief trip, but couldn’t this request have waited? “When?”
“After the show.”
“Straight from L.A.?”
“We have all the clothes you need in Milan.”
Andrew hid his irritation. “For how long?”
“Until the end of the year, at least.”
His body froze. End of the year? After tomorrow? Tomorrow. That would be the last time he would see Gwen until the end of the year. Salvatore had stolen the day Andrew wanted to spend with her and now Enrico was taking the rest of the year?
His boss sipped his drink and then rolled his eyes. “Fine, you can stop home to collect your things.”
“It’s not just things at my apartment. Don’t you think there are things in my office that I need to take with me too?” Like Gwen.
Enrico put his head down. “At least Gwendolyn has worked out.”
Yes, she worked out all right. It had taken less than a month for these feelings of hope and happiness to bubble inside him. Could he wait two months to tell her how he felt?
Drinks turned into dinner, the dinner he wanted to have with Gwen. By the time Andrew made it to her floor to speak to her, an unbearable tension settled in his shoulders. It rivaled any pain he’d felt the night before a show. The ache right now meant much more. His whole plan had been thwarted, hijacked. How could he do something, like tell her how he felt or...kiss her, if he were leaving for Milan right after the show?
His legs still moved him forward, but he would have to do this unscripted. It was a lot later than he would have preferred. And the box in his hand would be a sorry consolation for the fact that he
would be leaving.
After a heavy knock, he couldn’t shake that familiar bout of excitement sneaking into his bones from Gwen’s bright smile.
When the door opened, Andrew’s hands curled into tight fists. “Salvatore.”
“Morgan. Come look.”
He stepped in, wildly curious, but also afraid he’d see something that would upset him. Instead, a vision of elegant beauty made that pang of longing shoot through him. “Gwen?”
Her eyes lit up. “Andrew!”
She twirled in an emerald green full-length gown that cinched at her waist. Her body filled out the bodice perfectly and the upper swells of her full breasts peeked through the asymmetrical cutouts in the neckline.
“Isn’t this the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” she asked.
Yes. But he wasn’t thinking of the dress. “Salvatore, you’ve outdone yourself. I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but why isn’t this beautiful thing in the show?”
The designer rubbed a chin that hadn’t seen a razor in a couple of days. “Do you know one of our models who could fill out a dress like this as well as our Gwendolyn?”
Our Gwendolyn?
“Salvatore, thank you.” Gwen rushed to the designer to hug him, the gown giving way at the slit and showing her firm thighs.
Andrew’s blood boiled when Salvatore’s scandalous hands sat on her waist. She was not his. The tentative hesitation in her hug, however, cooled his fever. And the smile on her lips as she bounded in his direction reminded him of the woman she really was. Not all made up in a gown. Salvatore had tried to make her one of his models. A doll he could play dress-up with.
“Did you need something, Andrew?” she asked.
“Actually...” He could use a set of defibrillator paddles. “I have a gift for you, too.” He swayed further into the room, his confidence returning with every step. From a linen sack, he removed a shoebox. “She should be in Prada from head to toe, should she not, Salvatore?”
The designer grumbled, appearing to regret he hadn’t thought of the obvious accessory.
“Andrew, what have you done?” Gwen asked, resting her hands on her hips.
“Come here, Gwen,” he commanded and pointed to her suite’s desk chair. “Sit.”
At the chair, she swept aside the long skirt made of raw silk and sat with her knees pinned together. Andrew’s jaw trembled as he sank to one knee. The shoe he removed from the box was not a new design he could have swiped from the sample floor before they left. It was one of his favorites, a classic that had been around for years. The deep black suede gladiator sandal with satin nickel studs suited Gwen’s edgy personality. It was also the perfect complement to an elegant full-length gown.
The moderate heel would also cushion her ankles as she moved through the show tomorrow.
Andrew unfolded the soft tissue paper and held the shoe in front of Gwen.
“The Filettra sandal?” She looked at him, stunned.
“You know the name of this shoe?” Salvatore asked.
Before she could answer, Andrew turned to the designer. “She obviously did her homework on our products.”
“You boys really know how to make a girl feel like Cinderella.” She slipped her foot into the insole while it sat in Andrew’s hand.
He leaned forward to buckle the small strap around her ankle, his chest leaning against her knee.
After he repeated the same for the other foot, she stood. He’d worked for Prada long enough to know
when a woman felt comfortable in one of their shoes. Her toes sat perfectly against the vamp without being crushed.
He sensed Gwen had stopped breathing. Andrew lifted his chin slowly. On her face was a look of controlled satisfaction. Like maybe she would wait to show the depths to which his gift affected her until they were alone.
And why weren’t they alone?
Andrew ran his tongue against his dry lips to speak, and for the first time, the obnoxious ring of Salvatore’s phone was a welcome interruption.
“Che cosa? ” he blurted. In Italian, he ranted into the phone for several seconds. Pulling the device from his face, he turned back to Gwen, who hadn’t taken her eyes off Andrew. “I have a situation to deal with.”
The way Salvatore stomped to the door and slammed it shut, Andrew knew he’d won.
C aptivated was the only way Gwen could describe how she felt at the moment. The dress was an amazing gift, but she saw right through Salvatore’s motives. She’d been turning down his near-daily invitations, so giving her a dress must have been his way to see her curves. Pretty desperate.
While Salvatore had stormed in with his big personality, Andrew’s quiet power commanded the room. He filled it with his masculinity. An honorable and loyal man, regardless of his beauty, was the right man. Any man who knew he could have anyone...but wanted her. That was the kind of man she wanted.
OMG, the Filettra sandal! Feet were so intimate. Given the length of the skirt, even with the slit, the shoes would be her secret to keep throughout the day tomorrow. A secret for her and Andrew to share.
Gwen and Andrew... That had such a nice ring to it.
“So, he takes up a lot of oxygen in the room, doesn’t he?” Andrew pushed on one of his knees and stood.
“Salvatore’s all showy though.” Gwen fingered the skirt and swooshed the fabric back and forth.
“Do you prefer a man who’s more subtle?”
It was the first time he’d dared to get personal with her, and before he could retract his question or dilute it, she said firmly, “Yes, on the surface.” And smoldering underneath. Like you, Andrew.