The Devil She Knows. Kira Sinclair
her waist and then ran slowly up her ribs.
She jumped. Her skin crawled. Smacking down on the hands, she stopped them from traveling higher. “What are you doing?”
“Checking for injuries. The fall from heaven must have hurt.”
Willow bit back a groan. “Seriously?”
“Trust me, I’m a doctor.”
Using the sharp points of her elbows, Willow pushed the guy away from her and turned. Indeed, he was dressed as a doctor, complete with green scrubs, stethoscope and a surgical mask obscuring half his face.
From somewhere deep inside, a fit of pique threatened to take over. The doctor reached for her again, but she held out a hand to stop him. To his credit, he didn’t push. He was pissing her off, but he wasn’t dangerous, just obnoxious and uncouth.
“If you touch me again, I’m going to make you regret it.”
Maybe using a temporary rinse to dye her hair a shocking red had been a bad idea, after all. At the time, covering up her dark, ordinary brown had seemed like a smart move. But combined with the mask that obscured half her face, it seemed to make her unrecognizable. Although it was entirely possible that the dress she’d designed was more responsible for the attention she was getting.
She’d wanted to be daring. To take a risk.
For the past several months, she’d been fighting hard against a restlessness she couldn’t explain. Her business was doing well. She had more requests for exclusive wedding gown designs than she had time to fulfill, and stores all around the world had picked up her latest collection. The boutique was thriving. Clients came from all over the South for wedding, bridesmaid and prom dresses—and everything else that went with those important purchases.
After putting herself into debt to open her design company and boutique with Macey, her business partner and friend, the scales had finally started to tip in the past few years.
By most standards she was successful.
So, why did she feel so...lost?
If she was honest with herself she’d admit the disquiet had started when she began designing Hope’s wedding dress. It wasn’t that she begrudged her friend happiness...it just brought home that she’d spent all of her energy on her business and none on her personal life.
She designed wedding gowns all day, but the prospect of creating her own felt like a dream completely out of reach. The constant barrage of giddy brides searching through their merchandise for that dream dress was getting to her. And if she wasn’t careful, the jaded edge she’d developed was going to morph into complete indifference. When that happened, her ability to create magical, romantic and sexy dresses would dry up.
Part of the reason she kept her business in Sweetheart was because of the atmosphere. The entire town was built around the idea that love and marriage could equal lifelong happiness. And her creative process needed that inspiration. She designed dresses for the most important day in any woman’s life...she had to believe there was more beyond that day, or the creations would just turn into piles of expensive material and beads with no heart.
It had been a long time since she’d felt desired and sensual in her own skin. So tonight she was taking advantage of the disguise to be daring, something she did not do. She was stepping out on a limb, secure in the knowledge that she could keep her little walk on the wild side a secret.
The masks provided anonymity and freedom. To further confuse everyone, she’d designed a dress she’d never, in the light of day, consider wearing. One of her own sexy, slinky creations paired with two arching angel wings she’d hand-stitched and then laced onto the back of the bodice. Stark white feathers rose behind to tower over her by at least a foot. Instead of wedding white, she’d made the dress out of a pale silvery gray.
The tight bodice, flared mermaid skirt, flowing sleeves and naked shoulders showed off more of her body than she was usually comfortable with. Willow had worked hard to build the image of a quiet, accomplished businesswoman. She clung to it, wrapping the familiar shield around her. Flaunting her body went against years of trying to live down the scandal of her sister’s disgrace.
Rose had always worn the smallest, tightest things she could get away with. She’d stayed out all night, drunk excessively and embraced everything their parents had warned her to avoid. Everyone had hoped her older sister would outgrow her penchant for pushing boundaries and making mistakes, especially when she eloped with an older man who had an established, settled life. Perhaps his love would be enough to curb her destructive behavior.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
Not only hadn’t he settled her, he’d been betrayed by Rose in the worst way. Then, after the divorce, her sister had headed as far as she could get from Sweetheart, taking the settlement and becoming a showgirl in Sin City. Willow cringed every time she thought of Rose on stage, topless in front of thousands of strangers. But Rose refused to cash the checks Willow sent, insisting she didn’t need the help.
Forcing the unhappy thoughts away, Willow realized maybe it was inevitable that Rose would pop up in her mind tonight. Even as she’d put the dress and mask on, part of her had felt as if she was betraying the reputation she’d fought hard to build.
Needing a break from the blatant sexual come-ons, Willow worked her way into the corner. It was her default position for these types of events. Having the solid support of the wall behind her was comforting and familiar.
She was seriously considering calling it a night when her friend Tatum, the local florist who had designed the amazing red, orange and yellow centerpieces, sidled up beside her.
“Do I want to know what prompted this little outfit?”
Willow cut wary eyes to her friend. If any of their group would understand, it would be Tatum. She was a no-nonsense, make-no-apologies kind of person. Willow admired her for that self-confidence. Tatum didn’t need anyone’s approval.
After spending her entire life worrying what others thought, Willow was envious. But she had no idea how to adopt Tatum’s cavalier attitude. It just wasn’t her.
“What do you mean?” she asked, still uncertain if Tatum knew who she was. She hadn’t told any of her friends what she’d planned to do tonight. She’d been apprehensive about their reactions. She wasn’t interested in being razzed for the decision...or talked out of it.
Tatum’s pale green eyes raked Willow from the tip of her head to the toe of the designer heels peeking out beneath her hem.
“Well, let’s start with the hair. I really hope it’s temporary. While I’m all for taking a risk, you’ve never struck me as a red kinda girl. And the dress. Don’t misunderstand, it’s gorgeous—how could it not be? You designed it—but a little revealing for you, isn’t it?”
Oh, Tatum knew it was her. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her friend chuckled, sipped on the glass of punch she held. “Don’t get me wrong. If you really want to go there, I’ll support you one hundred percent. But as long as I’ve known you, this—” her hand waved up and down to take in Willow’s entire ensemble “—has never been your thing.”
Tatum turned, giving her back to the room and blocking out everyone else. Her stare was serious and sharp. “I’ve had my fair share of one-night-stand regrets. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Willow shook her head. “No one said anything about a one-night stand.”
“Please, honey, that dress screams ‘screw me.’ Right along with the underlying air of innocence that not even your amazing creation can completely cover up. You’re like catnip, and every single man here is sniffing.”
Willow wanted to dismiss her friend’s observation—she wasn’t catnip for anyone—but the barrage of bad lines she’d heard tonight had her swallowing the words.
“Right now, there are at least six