He stepped a few inches away. “I’m still concerned all the attention will be on you in that dress.”
He held his chin, smooth and fresh.
“I planned to wear my hair up.” She gathered a handful of waves and swept them away from her face. When he stared at her bracelets as they clanged together, she let the bundle fall. “Or—”
“No. No.” His fingers brushed past her cheek, lifting the hair off her shoulders again. “This is perfect.”
Yes, it is perfect. He should have kissed her by now. His amazing lips, pink and full, should be on her mouth as well as other parts of her body. She wanted him to make her feel alive and give them both what they needed, like that night.
How long could she wait for him, before a crazy impulse to grab him took hold of her?
“I guess it’s settled. I’m wearing my hair up tomorrow,” she whispered, locking eyes with him.
He cleared his throat and stepped back, letting her hair fall. The weight of so many waves warmed her skin, even though she preferred the heat coming off his body.
She stepped back as well and slipped into co-worker mode. “Andrew, be honest. Is this dress...too much? I prefer my clothes simple and classic. You know, conservative.”
“I would call you classic, Gwen. But not simple. You wear our clothes beautifully.” He ran his hand over the suit jacket she had draped on a desk chair. “The way they sit on you tells a story of the woman we know other women want to be.”
The compliment left her breathless. Prada had been in business for more than one hundred years.
He certainly made up for what he’d said about Starlight Elegance.
“Thank you, Andrew.”
“No, Gwen. I want to thank you.” His shoulders softened. “I need you to know, I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“That’s not true.” She blinked away the shiny tears she would never let fall. It was better if she were respected as an equal and not thought of as a weepy lightweight. “You’ve run plenty of these shows.”
“Yes, and I know what it takes to pull this off. There was no way I could have done what you’ve done...for this show.” He ran a hand through his hair, his wedding band was— gone.
The sight took Gwen’s own breath away. She twisted her hair to the side to keep her hands busy.
“Did you want to do one final walk through for tomorrow?”
“No. We’re set.” He bent down to the pick up the shoebox. His back straightened, emphasizing his dramatic height.
She hugged Andrew, loving how his touch felt vastly different from the night she’d hugged him on the street. The night when everything had turned around. And upside down. His fingers pressed into her bare shoulders and his body molded against hers.
Oh, the smell of him, musky and woodsy. Masculine. There it was, his heart, beating wildly.
There was so much of this man, his heart must work so hard to pump his rich blood through so many veins.
The feel of his grip softening meant it was time for her to let go. “Have a good night, Andrew.”
She touched his hands and leaned upward for a kiss on the cheek. The edge of his warm and tender mouth caught the corner of her lips. Tickle, tickle went her stomach.
A strand of her long hair stuck in his collar, binding them together for a moment. Creating a bridge, if someone had enough courage to cross.
Andrew snagged the strand of her hair in his fingers. He held his gaze, breathed, and exhaled. “I believe this belongs to you.”
It wasn’t exactly what she wanted in her hand, but she took it from him and let it fall against her breast, his eyes following. He looked hesitant, confused, like he was holding back.
“Andrew, is something wrong?”
His fingers pulled at his collar. “No. I just... I feel...”
His indecisiveness sent a pang of alarm through her. If he didn’t know for sure what he wanted, forcing the issue could have disastrous consequences.
“It’s late, I guess, right?” she asked softly, drawing his eyes back up to hers.
“I guess.” He pressed his eyes closed and headed for the door.
After he turned around and another look passed between them, he nodded and the door closed, taking her breath with it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
he next morning when everyone else seemed preoccupied, Gwen snuck out on the runway. The Tfolding chairs were being set up for the guests. Assistants were removing Salvatore’s collection from black garment bags and hanging them up in the dressing rooms. The backstage area was twice the size of the room for the show.
The lighting team hadn’t arrived yet and only yellow emergency lights poured down on the white ceramic platform. This would be her only chance to goof off. She put her hands on her hips and glided down the runway. One foot crossed in front of the other just as the models did at the interviews and the rehearsals. The way a model moved down a runway wasn’t how an ordinary human walked. After a few steps, Gwen’s back had already cramped up.
Despite her cozy leggings, boxy sweatshirt, and sneakers, she felt beautiful tilting her hips and projecting her shoulders, right then left.
Gwen wasn’t a glitzy glamour girl. Or a model. She was real. Told it like it was. Even to her detriment. She was honest, raised by a cop and a housewife in a small town. It didn’t get more real than that. But, oh, this was awesome, too!
At the end of the platform, she did the quarter turns—one side, then the other—swung her hair in a dramatic swoop and sailed back up toward the AV screen in the front. She closed her eyes feeling elated.
Until she slammed into a wall. A wall of flesh and bone, tall and lean, and smelling like fresh cotton and spicy musk.
“Oh my gosh,” she said, her hands splaying against Andrew’s chest.
“I hope our models don’t do that.” He peeked at the two foot drop just inches away from where she stood.
“Has that ever happened?” she asked, ignoring her body screaming in his delightful hold.
“A model sailing over the edge?” He shifted her back to the center of the platform, his hands firmly on her waist. “Not at any of my shows.”
“I just wanted to walk this thing once. Was I not allowed to do that?” She wanted to know where all the boundaries were.
“Gwen...” He took the laminated card hanging around her neck in his strong hands, and her nipples tightened from how close he’d come to brushing against them. “You’re an executive with Prada. This is a Prada fashion show. You have full venue access.”
“Okay.” Not wanting him to know how he made her feel, she repositioned her body.
“But please don’t do that while the show is going on,” he joked.
“Can I do one more lap?” She tented her fingers in prayer.
“Why don’t you practice walking out there and taking your bow?”
Gwen tripped over her sneakers. “My what? ”
“We all come out,” Andrew said smiling. “I usually go after Enrico. And with all the work you’ve put into the show, it wouldn’t seem right to come out here without you.”
“So, you mean I have to come out here later?” She swallowed. “In front of actual...people?”
“Yep, so practice.” Andrew winked and ducked back into the controlled chaos behind the large screen.