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The Artist and the Director
Derica Meadows, the conservative Director of Accounting at a large San Francisco
firm, sees the most beautiful dress imaginable in a shop window. So different
from her usual genderless pant suits, she's swept into acquiring the gown
for a formal business affair the next night. But a funny thing happens on
the way to her party, in the form of a compelling man and a photo shoot. Suddenly,
the normally logical Derica finds herself swimming in a sea of sexual freedom
she'd never before considered. The hunk of an artist can satisfy her fantasies,
but what will happen to her climb up the corporate ladder in the process?
And to her heart?
Awards Night
Allison Hayes has always tried to be all things to all people. Need anything
done? Call Allison. It seems no one considered that Allison might have needs,
too. When she goes home one night to find a man crashed in her pasture, she
resigns herself to helping out yet again. However, it isn't long before she
finds the roles reversed, as the mysterious man fulfills her deepest desires.
By morning, Allison knows that in being the Good Samaritan this time, she'd
gotten more than she gave. The question is, was it passion for one night or
a lifetime of love?
PROLOGUE
The whir of a sewing machine traveled across the ether. As intended, the sound blended with the those of a lawn mower in Cleveland, a blender in Dallas, an electric razor in Seattle. Some people, those specially attuned to properties outside the normal realm of humans, heard buzzing that could have been a sewing machine, but it was faint and truly indistinguishable for what it was. More like a mosquito at the ear. They heard it but couldn't decipher exactly where to swat, so they did their best ignore it.
Of course, the sound was not supposed to be heard, and therefore not investigated. The very few who did hear it clearly, who also heard Nigel and his granddaughter clearly, well, they generally resided in a hospital setting where three squares a day were provided and tranquility came in the form of little green pills. At the least, they saw a shrink three times a week. Their knowledge wasn't taken seriously.
This worried Nigel, but what could he do? It wasn't his fault humans had devolved to the point where they no longer believed in enchantment. He shook his head and tsked as he sewed. When he was a boy learning the business from his grandfather as his granddaughter now learned from him, no one would have believed the universe could get to this point, where people believed in the "magic" of technology but not the magic that could found in their own hearts.
Of course, challenges were exciting, and skeptical humans certainly kept him on his toes.
Absently, he hummed as he completed the final seam on the full, purple satin skirt. He pulled it from the machine, snipped the threads and shook the material out before pinning it on the dress form.
"Edwina! I have the skirt finished. Come here, Dear." Standing back to cast a critical eye over how the skirt hung, he held up an artist's rendition of what the final product should be. He looked from drawing to garment, made a few small adjustments to the pleating around the waist and nodded in satisfaction.
"Hey, Gramps," his granddaughter said, bounding into the room.
For the millionth time, he mentally cringed at the lack of style in today's youth. Their kind had the ability to appear any way they wished. Glancing in the mirror, he saw a debonair David Niven reflected back. The sleeves of his snowy white shirt were rolled to his elbows, but the Windsor knot in his tie was perfect, as was the knife-sharp crease in his trousers and the shine on his shoes. When he rolled down his sleeves and put on his jacket, he would look every inch the gentleman. Quirking his brows in approval, he unconsciously ran a fingertip lightly over his moustache. Instead of selecting what he would consider an appropriate shell, Edwina-a name which screamed propriety-chose to look like a bag lady gone wild.
Like today, for instance. Long blond hair, streaked with pink and purple, pulled up into a ponytail to hang down the side of her head. Black lipstick and eye shadow. Two earrings in one ear and four in the other. A bright orange tank top and faded jeans-separated scandalously by a good three inches of bare stomach-looked as though they'd been worn (and torn) for centuries. And her feet-her lovely, dainty feet!-were shod in horrid, ugly brown things that not even the most desperate soldier in Caesar's army would have donned.
When he had questioned her once about her appearance, she'd said with delight that she was starting her own trend. A Lauper-Madonna-Pink look. It was not something he'd understood. Today, after a quick perusal, he leaned closer.
"What is that?" He swiped his thumb across her cheek, then examined what was on the pad.
"Body glitter. Isn't it cool?" She grinned at him.
Her enthusiasm, as well as her utter lack of self-consciousness, brought the slightest of smiles to his eyes, even as his mouth formed a moue of reproach.
"Yes, well." He wiped his thumb on a handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his jacket, hanging on the wall behind Edwina. "'Cool' is what ice cubes provide. I don't know what body glitter is good for."
Giggles flowed from her, reminding him of when she was a small girl instead of the nearly grown youngster she was now. Where had the centuries gone? Despite the shudders her wardrobe caused, he loved Edwina enormously and strove to give her the very best education in what they did, which was make dreams come true.
To his amazement, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Gramps!"
Blushing with pleasure, he patted her shoulder. "As I do you, my dear. Now, however-" briskly he turned back to the skirt falling in soft folds to brush the floor "-we must perform our first infusion of magic." He glanced to see if Edwina was listening with the proper attention and she rewarded him with a serious expression. "The first layer of magic is performed now, as the garment is being made. The next layer is cast-"
"When the pieces are put together," she finished.
He beamed. "Very good. The final layer is added with adornments, like the lace, pearls and beads you'll sew on the bodice of this dress. Do you know the chant?"
"Yes, Gramps."
"Excellent. Remember, the chant must be said for each bauble sewn, so that the spell isn't lessened if a bead is lost."
"I'll remember." She reached to touch the dress. "You don't usually work from a picture. Why this time?"
Nigel laid the drawing on the cutting table. "Because our Ms. Meadows will need to see it in order to be convinced."
"It's beautiful, and when we're finished it will be a gorgeous gown. The woman who buys this one will be very lucky."
"Oh, this dress isn't for sale. This is for the mannequin in the window."
"We're going to all this work for a dress that won't even be worn?" She turned a wide-eyed gaze on him.
"I didn't say it won't be worn." He dusted non-existent lint from his hands, rolled his sleeves down and slid his arms into his jacket. "Now. We don't have much more time before we arrive in San Francisco, so take my hand and let's say our incantation."
With one hand each on the material and the others joined, they recited the words used to fuse magic into the seams of the skirt. For a brief moment the space of air around the skirt glowed blue. Then it looked as though nothing had happened. They dropped hands and stepped back.
"Very nice, Edwina. You've learned the spells well. I'm quite proud of you."
She smiled, pleasure obvious in the sparkle of her eyes.
Giving her shoulder a squeeze he added, "As I said, there's much left to do before we appear on Post Street. We'd better get to work."
Picking up a packet of pins, she followed him to the cutting table and they started.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The Artist and the Director
[In Chapter One, Derica Meadows goes into the store and finds her gown.]
CHAPTER TWO
Derica virtually sailed into the lobby of the sumptuous downtown hotel, her usual confident posture becoming an almost regal bearing. It was the dress that changed her attitude, the flowing satin and lace, the beads and pearls, and knowing that the sequins caught rays of light from the lobby chandeliers and flashed them back as she took each step. Without even looking, she knew every eye was on her as she made her entrance, and it was a heady experience.
She stopped at the directory to find the location of the MiBar event, and saw her reflection in the glass of the case. Her normally short black hair appeared long and upswept, thanks to the genius of her hairdresser. The finger she put to the glass to search for the correct room was shaped and polished in the lightest shade of lavender. Funny how a simple manicure could change a girl's whole outlook! Rather than the professional woman, her softly shaded violet eye shadow and frosted light pink lipstick reflected a woman who was completely feminine but who knew how to use her femininity in bold and powerful ways. A woman who was hot.
This woman didn't mind attending the party alone because she was certain not to be alone long. There was a certain thrill in that thought. Oh, she wouldn't be interested in attracting any of the married men, but the woman staring back at her might have fun throwing out a few lures to the single guys who happened to be there. There was a strange stirring in her to let loose and live large for a change. Reach for a brass ring she'd never noticed before. The urge to do something different-be someone different-had never been so strong.
The Wives, expecting the normal Derica-in-Black-Pantsuit, would be scandalized by her look and the aura of womanly force she projected, but they'd have to get over it. Tonight she was Deri, not Derica, flirt and vamp, not conservative, cautious executive, a seeker of adventure, not a practical "do what it takes to get ahead" follower. No, tonight she would throw caution to the wind!
Frowning at the woman in the glass, she revised that. She'd throw caution to the wind within reason. Maybe she'd toss a tiny bit of prudence to the breeze. After all, this was just a party and only for this one night. She didn't want anything that happened in one night to affect the rest of her career. Or her life.
She nodded to her reflection, smiled and headed past the huge arrangement of flowers on a carved table in the center of the lobby. The bank of elevators was to the rear of the ornate, red-carpeted stairway, which was blocked by a horde of people around cameras and photographic lights. Slowing only a bit, she picked her way through the crowd. It seemed these days film crews were everywhere, using the fabulous city views as backdrop for their work. She spared only a moment to wonder what this crew was filming.
"Hey, you!" A man's voice rang out from the other side of the stairway. "Stop, lady!"
Someone touched her arm as she tried to get by. "I think he wants you over there," a woman standing next to one of the lights said.
Derica looked up, puzzled. A burly man with thinning red hair and a fluffy auburn beard streaked with gray charged toward her, a frown on his face and anger in his eyes.
"Madeline Watson? Where in hell have you been? You've kept us waiting for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! Do you know how much that costs?" He stepped back and gave her a quick look from head to toe.
"You've got me-"
"Hair's a little different but it's still okay. At least you're dressed and ready. That's one good thing. Get your butt over here so we can get started." He spun around and stomped off.
Derica stood her ground, wondering why he had her confused with someone else, but angry that he hadn't let her explain. It would serve him right if she just slipped away and didn't tell him anything. In fact, she turned to do just that when she felt him beside her again.
"Where are you going?" he practically bellowed. "We need you on this side of the stairway for lighting."
There wasn't a sound at that end of the lobby, as though everyone waited to see her reaction to him.
She drew herself to her full five foot ten inches and raised her head like the queen she'd felt herself to be earlier that evening. "I don't know who you think I am, but my name is not Madeline Watson."
The man closed his eyes and shook his head. "God spare me from temperamental actresses," he moaned. He looked at her. "Okay, so what's your name this week?" He waved his hands. "Never mind! We'll straighten it out with the agency after the damn shoot." His voice rose on the final words. "Now, come on."
Without the slightest attempt to listen to her protests, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the crowd that had surrounded them, to the other side of the lobby.
"Wait, damn it!"
Wrenching her arm from his hold, she stopped and glared at the man. He jammed his fists on his hips and glared back.
"I'm not who you think I am. My name's Derica Meadows, and I'm here for-"
"Samantha! Get over here and touch her up. And bring a contact and release form," he called over his shoulder, then he looked at her again. "Look lady," he started, weariness touching his voice, "I don't know what your name is, I really don't care what your name is, as long as we get it on the release form correctly. All I know is, you're wearing the dress, so you have to be the one the agency sent us." He thrust something into her hand then walked away.
Derica looked at the cardboard drawing. The woman portrayed could have been her. Slender, long neck, and black hair pulled up into an upsweep, although the style in the picture was different than hers. Actually, except for the hair style and color, the drawing looked like the girl at the dress shop. That girl … well, whatever her name was, it looked like her.
But the dress. The dress was a duplicate of what she wore, down to the sequins hidden on the skirt. The logical side of her brain tried to analyze what this was about. The man had told her the dress was old and one of a kind-an original he himself had made. Obviously that wasn't true. What was true was that the drawing had the same appeal, the same magical, almost mystical sense about it.
"I'm so glad you finally got here," a young woman said as she ran her hands over Derica's hair, smoothing it and tucking in a few loose strands. "Ben has been beside himself."
Derica shrugged. "Look, I don't know who everyone thinks I am, but I'm not the person you're all waiting for."
The woman pursed her lips while she turned Derica's head toward the light. She whipped an eyeliner out of an opened case and ran it efficiently under Derica's eyes, then examined her work. With a satisfied nod, she took out a lip liner and worked on Derica's lips.
"You have to be the right person, don't you see? This dress is a designer original, one of a kind, made just for this campaign." With a finger of her free hand she tapped the drawing. "The dress is unique, you have on the dress, therefore you are the right person. Now purse your lips."
Derica did as she was ordered.
"Don't worry about Ben. That's the guy who yelled. He's just nervous because this is such a big account. And you are late. Okay, let me take another look."
Derica watched the woman stare at her face and then her body with a critical eye. She thrust a clipboard with a form on it into Derica's hand. "Here, honey, sign this while I finish up."
"What campaign is this anyway?" Derica dutifully filled in the blanks and signed, all the while uncertain why she did it.
The woman smoothed the waist of the dress and tugged the sleeves until they stood out from Derica's arms in perfect puffs. "The Violet Passion campaign." She frowned. "Jeez, something this big, you'd think the agency would tell you something. You know that romance novelist, Violet Sampson?"
"No, I don't read that stuff."
"Well, maybe you'll start after you get your first check from the campaign. You're beautiful and this is probably just the start for you." Professional and thorough, she continued inspecting, fluffing, and pulling on the dress as she spoke. "Anyway, she's a New York Times bestseller and she's branched out into perfumes. And maybe other stuff, if this is successful. This shoot is for the book cover and the TV trailers, but Ben hopes to sell them on the perfume label, too." She took the storyboard and gave Derica a nudge toward the stairs. "So get over there and break a leg!"
Looking around once more for someone to whom she could explain her predicament, Derica glanced up to the third step. And held her breath.
He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. The old saying is that clothes make the man. Well, this guy wore a tuxedo that fit perfectly, but she had no illusion that it was the clothes making this guy. He'd look great even without the tux. Maybe especially without the tux.
People bustled around but all she saw was him, talking to another man standing one step below him. Hair as black as her own hung to the bottoms of his ears and touched his jaw, which was darkened with five o'clock shadow. She was too far away to see eye color, but she'd bet they were blue. Their intensity could be felt even though he wasn't looking directly at her. He looked trim and fit. The diamond stud in his ear winked through his raven black hair as he moved his head in conversation.
At that moment he looked up and met her eyes. She licked her lips.
A smile barely brushed his mouth. He said a few more words to the man, but never took his eyes from her. When the other man left, he slowly descended to the bottom step. Then he crooked his finger and bid her come the rest of the way to him.
And she did, as though she never had a choice.
She held out her hand. He took it in his larger one. His skin was cool, unlike his eyes, which blazed with heat. She sucked in a breath, certain that if it were her last she could die happy now that he'd touched her. Of course, now that he'd touched her, dying was the last thing she wanted to do. He pulled her closer as he stepped to the floor.
"My name is Kailen." He gave her a thorough male appraisal. "So this is the famous gown." He leaned to her ear. "The dress is beautiful, but you give it life."
Derica hardly knew what to say. She'd never been swept off her feet before, or so completely aroused by a simple touch or few words.
"I'm afraid this is all a mistake. I'm not supposed to be here at all." It was hard to speak over the noise her heart made with its wild beating.
A smile touched his lips and he gave her the same answer to her protest she'd heard since arriving. "No? But I'm sure you are. You're wearing the dress, after all." He didn't relinquish her hand. Instead, with a glance over her shoulder and a nod at someone behind her, he tucked it into the crook of his elbow and turned her to the stairway. "Time to earn our keep," he said.
The chubby guy with the beard stormed up to them. "Okay, Kailen you've studied the boards and know what to do, right?"
Kailen nodded.
"And you, What's-Your-Name, the agency gave you the boards, right?"
Derica held up her hand to stop him from saying anything else. "Enough. There's been a mistake. I'm not the person you're expecting. I'm simply here to attend a company party upstairs in the Rosemont Room. I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not a model." There! She'd set him straight at last.
He stared at her for a few moments. "So the agency didn't get you the storyboards. That's great." He threw his hands into the air. "Of course! Why did I think this would be an easy shoot!"
"Didn't you hear me? I said-"
Kailen stepped forward, holding his hands up at Derica and Ben. "Ben, it's okay. Remember your blood pressure. I can show…" He looked at her questioningly.
"Derica," she supplied.
"I can show Derica what to do. Don't worry. It'll be fine."
With a glare at her and a look of resignation at Kailen, chubby Ben shook his head and walked away. "Get ready!" he yelled.
Blowing a breath, she looked up into Kailen's dark blue eyes. "Doesn't anyone listen to anything I say? I'm not a model. I'm not supposed to be in this commercial, or whatever it is."
"Look, maybe you're nervous or something. Is this your first job? Just relax. We know you're in the right place because you're-"
"Wearing the dress," they said in unison.
He smiled. "See? Now, you evidently didn't get the plans, so I'll tell you what to do. Go up about twenty steps and turn. When Ben calls 'Action!' you start down the steps, slowly, looking only at me."
No hardship there.
"I'll be coming up. When you're on the step above me, just do what comes naturally. Then they'll stop the camera and have us change positions. Don't worry, don't be nervous, but … we have to get this right. We only have the stairway for a certain length of time, and since you were late, we're cutting it close."
Her eyes widened. Horror must have shown in them because he took her hand and raised it to his lips. "There's no need to worry. You're beautiful, the dress is beautiful. You walk down steps all the time, right?"
"Right," she murmured.
"Anytime, people," Ben called.
"Go on. It'll be fine." Kailen gave her a nudge.
There wasn't anything to do but turn, lift the hem free of her feet, and march up the steps before the little guy, Ben, had a heart attack. She'd try to straighten the mess out later. Besides, as soon as the camera started, they'd know for sure they had the wrong person because she hadn't a clue what to do. What would happen then, she didn't want to know.
"Fine, fine. Don't go all the way to the top." It was Ben yelling at her again. Her head began to ache. She wanted nothing more than to yell back at him, but something kept her from it.
She turned, seeing the full picture for the first time. Below her were four cameras, all aimed at the stairway from various angles. Dozens of people milled about inside the roped off area, and many more lingered outside the rope, watching. Ben stood to the left of the stairs with a clear view of all action. She looked down at them and silence descended over the crowd, as though they waited to hear what proclamation she might make. All eyes were on her.
Someone adjusted the spotlight to highlight her, and she squinted then raised her hand to shield her eyes. Even from halfway up the staircase she heard a collective "Ooo," from the people below. One glance down told the story. Bugle beads, seed pearls, sequins glistened and sparkled in the light. With the slightest movement, color swirled from waist to hem. It was remarkable.
It was magical. It was-
"Action!"
Distracted as she was with the way her gown responded to the lighting, she didn't hear Ben.
"Cut!"
"Derica!" Kailen's call was sharp and penetrated her mind.
She looked up from the dress and down to his amused face.
Kailen cocked his head toward Ben who had moved close in and now gazed at her in disgust. "He called action."
"Oh!" She looked at Ben. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry, but the dress…."
She heard Kailen's rich rumble of laughter. "Now you see why it's one of a kind. You can't mass-produce that kind of effect."
"People, do you mind?" Impatience rang in Ben's loud voice. Then his tone softened, but with sarcasm, not real concern. "Are you ready, lady?"
She nodded. Glancing at the foot of the stairs and beyond Kailen, she found the lights blinded her to the crowd. Good. That should make this easier. Ben had moved out of her vision. All she could see was Kailen.
"Action!"
With one hand on the balustrade, she stepped down. Kailen stepped up. His eyes focused on hers, willing her to see only him. She couldn't have looked away if she'd wanted to. Like a laser beam he guided her to him, their movements unfailingly matched, until she stood one step above him. For a moment they gazed into each other's eyes. Then he reached around to cup her buttocks and pull her toward him as he leaned into her, resting his head on her breast.
He'd said to do what came naturally. She slid her fingers through his hair to hold his head with one hand. Her other hand rested on his shoulder blades as she bent to kiss the top of his head.
"Cut! Perfect!" The spotlights went out.
They didn't move. Derica felt the hard bulge of his penis against her leg and his hand softly kneaded her butt. He felt so warm, so right standing there against her.
Finally, he pulled away, looking up at her as he moved back. His eyes were dark and hooded. If they'd been alone, she thought he would kiss her, but the noise from the crowd below reminded her that they weren't by themselves.
"He's right, you were perfect."
"I mussed your hair." Her voice was hushed, befitting the scene they'd played more than the reality.
"You did exactly as you should have."
Suddenly they were surrounded by people. Samantha charged up the stairs to check her makeup and hair, and to fix the damage she'd done to Kailen's hair by running her hand through it. Within minutes they were drawn to the base of the stairway.
Kailen leaned close to her to describe the next shoot. "You're to stand here, looking impatient, as though you're waiting for someone."
"That'll be you," she said with a smile.
"Yes," he said, returning the smile and making her heart thump strongly. ""I'll come down the steps and behind you. Just follow my lead after that." He turned to move to the other side of the stairs, then stopped. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"
"Quite sure."
"Well, you're a quick study. It feels right with you. More than right."
More than right. It was perfect. If the ad made women feel the way she felt right now-giddy with desire-it would sell one hell of a lot of perfume, books, whatever.
Kailen walked off as Ben called, "Places!"
The lights came on and she had to keep from shutting her eyes.
"Action!"
Trying to look slightly annoyed, she peered out to where the lobby would be, then rested her hand on the curved end of the balustrade and tapped her fingers. She sensed him before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. His breath was hot as his lips nipped her ear. With the tip of his tongue he traced a path from her ear lobe to her neck. She tilted her head to allow him access, closing her eyes at the sensation. He nibbled, then licked the spot. His hands rose from her waist to the bottom of her breasts, as though any second he would caress them. Derica covered one of his hands with her own, and reached her other hand behind to clasp his leg.
Again she forgot they were in a crowded hotel lobby. With the incredible heat raging between them, it felt as though they were the only people in all the world.
"Cut!"
The lights went out but Kailen didn't release her.
"Another perfect print." Ben stood before her when she forced her eyes open and dropped her hands to her side.
She thought it was with equal reluctance that Kailen moved away, although he kept one arm at her waist.
"We might finish on time after all if you two keep this up. You doing okay, lady?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Okay. Kailen." Ben directed his attention to Kailen as Samantha fluttered around them touching up cosmetics, and smoothing hair and skirts alike. "Just three more scenes and we can wrap things up. Keep helping her-" he nodded to Derica "-and it'll go fast. You two are on fire. I think we've got a winner; Violet Passion is supposed to make people feel sex and wild emotion. If I didn't know this was a staged set, I'd think you were ready to hop into bed with each other." He slapped Kailen on the shoulder and hustled away.
"I am," Kailen murmured, slanting a glance at Derica.
For the next forty minutes they performed different scenes, each more intimate than the previous. In the last, she rushed down the stairs and into his arms. His lips crushed to hers, his hand held her tightly against his erection, until he allowed her to slide down his body to the floor. The crew and audience broke into applause when Ben called a wrap.
Kailen lifted his head, separating their lips by a fraction. Slowly, unwillingly, she forced herself to pull away. Never had she felt such animal attraction for any man. It was exhilarating. Her blood was hot, her heart pounded in her chest. It was dangerous. This man with the roughened, dark jaw and dazzling diamond in his ear was not the type of man she normally dated, not the kind who fit into the profile as "acceptable" for her career.
Still, she wanted him like she'd wanted no one else. And judging by the glint in his eyes, he wanted her, too.
"What are you doing for the rest of the night?" His voice was husky, sounding as heavy with desire as she felt.
"I have to do what I came here to do. My company is hosting a party."
People moved around them, disconnecting lights and breaking down camera set-ups. For the first time all evening, no one came to make sure her make-up was perfect or each strand of hair was in place.
"So you really aren't a model, hmm? You're late for your party. Is someone there waiting for you?"
"No one's waiting. Would you like to come with me?" As soon as the words left her mouth she wondered why she'd spoken them. Hadn't she just admitted that he wasn't like the men she dated? That he was dangerous to her career? Too late. His smile said it all.
"I don't want to let you go, so yes, I'll accept your offer."
She tried to backpedal. "I shouldn't have said that-I'm sure you have more exciting things to do. These things are boring even for me. I don't have a choice, but you do. Don't feel obligated."
"I'm not obligated. I want to be with you." He took her arm and guided her away from the crowd. "I do have a question, though."
Derica gratefully retrieved her evening bag from Samantha who had confiscated it when she first arrived, then preceded Kailen to the elevators. He stayed close, not giving her a chance to slip away. Although she was nervous, she also felt energized.
Already the evening had been totally different than she'd thought it would be when she left home. She'd been creative, praised for her work and acclaimed as a beauty. An exciting and handsome man wanted to spend the remainder of the evening with her. Deri thought she hadn't been this jazzed in years-for the first time in a long time the party tonight would not be dull. Derica worried that damage control might be in order. But neither persona gave a thought to telling Kailen she'd changed her mind.
She pushed the Up button. "What's your question?" she asked, not looking into his face.
"If you weren't sent by the modeling agency, how did you end up with a dress just like 'the' dress?"
"Obviously someone is pulling the wool over your sponsor's eyes. It can't be one of a kind, can it? I'm renting it from a little shop down on Post, so heaven only knows how many copies there must be out there."
Now she did look up, almost losing herself in the depths of his blue, blue eyes. "Or else, it's magic."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Awards Night
CHAPTER ONE
Allison Hayes berated herself for the millionth time as she hurried up the street. Spending her lunch hour shopping wasn't her greatest desire, but she had little choice.
Why had she agreed to help at the reunion yet again? Hadn't she been masochistic enough when they'd celebrated being out of high school five years? She'd handled all of the arrangements then. And when the tenth anniversary arrived, hadn't she accepted the tasks of tracking down everyone in their class, bringing in the entertainment and setting up the welcome dinner?
As the third reunion approached, she'd determined to stay out of it. Yet here she was, sucked in again. At least this time she only had responsibility for handling the welcome table for the mix-and-mingle dinner on Saturday. The opening ceremonies, as it were.
"And I think that will be the extent of my appearances, too," she mumbled. Why emphasize the chasm that existed between her and her classmates one more time?
The first reunion hadn't been so bad in that respect. Everyone either had recently graduated from college or was trying to establish their place in the world in some way. She'd felt on equal footing. At the next, she had been among the few who weren't married, one of only a handful who hadn't left the Lexington area. This year, she knew she would be almost alone in her single status. Probably a few of her classmates had been divorced and remarried, even, sampling two or three times what she hadn't known at all. She would feel odd and provincial, still being unmarried and never having left their small hometown.
Walking with purpose down Main Street, she headed for the Belk's department store. The reunion committee, in its infinite wisdom, had decided to make the introductory party a retro theme.
"So much more fun," her friend Mary had explained on the phone last week.
"Fun? But I don't have anything I can wear to a retro party. I'm not even sure what retro clothes are," Allison had complained.
"Sure you do. Now look, Allison, you must be there. I'm really counting on you. It'll be fun, you'll see. Have your hair styled in a flip and find an old bridesmaid's dress somewhere. Somehow they always look like they're from the fifties." With that bit of sage advice she'd hung up to take care of some child-related disaster in the making.
So here Allison was, on her lunch hour and only a few days before the event, trying to find something that filled the requirements. Tugging on the door to Belk's, she saw the sign posted on the glass: "Closed due to broken pipe. Please visit us again later this week."
"Great." Heaving a deep sigh, she wondered where else she could find the kind of dress she needed, in-she glanced at her watch-thirty minutes. Nowhere. She groaned knowing she'd now have to do more shopping than could be handled in a lunch break.
Viewing her reflection in the glass, she noted the lines of fatigue already there, and the week wasn't over yet. Leaving her plain face starkly exposed, her brown hair was pulled back in a bun, its luster normally hidden under a nurse's cap. She looked tidy and efficient in the white uniform. But she hurt from the hours on her feet combined with the walk uptown, making her lean to the right in order to take weight off of her left leg. The ache added to her weary expression. The last thing she needed in her week was to go shopping.
"Damn!" She hadn't wanted to go to the reunion in the first place and now she had to rearrange her schedule in order to find a dress she really didn't want to buy. She turned to trudge back up the street toward the hospital.
Suddenly, a noise caught her attention and she glanced up to find the source, a sign hanging over the sidewalk, squeaking on its hinges. Your Desire, the sign said in fine script. Vintage Clothing. An arrow pointed up the alley where Allison saw another, smaller sign hanging over a doorway. Puzzled, she looked up and down the street. She'd never noticed this sign before. She hadn't especially noticed this alley, to tell the truth. Vintage Clothing.
"What do I have to lose?" she murmured, dragging herself up the alleyway.
Pushing open the door, she experienced a rush of anticipation, a tingle up her spine. She walked into a store surprisingly different than what she'd expected. From the outside, the storefront appeared tiny. Inside, shelves and racks spaced on each wall extended far into the back, making the shop very deep. She supposed because the windows fronted the alley, the natural light that filled the space seemed filtered, creating a hazy, gauzy ambience.
She stepped farther inside. Background music was loud enough to be heard but not overwhelming. A song by a swing band ended and a Hit Parade ballad by Perry Como began. To her left she saw a Victorian wedding gown hanging on the wall. To her right, a flapper era dress, complete with fringe and sequins. Surely these were reproductions. No one store could have such a wide range of exquisite originals.
"May I help you?"
She started, slapping her hand to her chest. "Oh, I didn't see you." The man standing beside her looked like someone she thought she should know. An actor or something. That was it! One of those old actors. What was his name…?
He smiled and she forgot to remember.
"I didn't mean to startle you. Are you looking for something in particular?"
"Yes," she said, regaining her composure. "I need a dress for an event on Saturday. Do you carry anything fifties-like?"
"We certainly do, and I might have something in your size. Let's see…." He cast a glance over her while tapping his lips with his index finger. "I believe you look about a size twelve?"
"You have a good eye."
He smiled again. "Years of experience, my dear. Come this way."
His walk was so smooth he almost seemed to glide across the floor. Following, Allison's limp was even more pronounced. The ache in her hip had spread to her lower back and finishing her shift would be hell.
When the man stopped in front of a rack of dresses, she saw clothing from the right era. A gray poodle skirt and pink sweater set were displayed on a mannequin with bright, rosy cheeks and a long ponytail streaked with pink and green. Then the mannequin moved.
"This is my granddaughter, Edwina," the man said by way of introduction. "And I do apologize. I'm Nigel Brown. May I have your name?"
"Allison Hayes."
"Of course." His eyes twinkled but not in merriment. More like in confirmation. Then he turned to his granddaughter. "Edwina, would you show Miss Hayes what we have from the fifties? The dress is for a dance, I believe?" He raised his brows.
"More like a cocktail party-slash-dinner. For a high school reunion."
"Oh, what fun," Edwina said, smiling.
Not! "I hope so."
"Now, Miss Hayes, why don't you just have a seat and we'll show you what we have. I'm certain we can find something magical for you." He pointed to a chair Allison was fairly certain had not been there a short minute ago, and she gladly sank onto the seat.
"Not magical, Mr. Brown. I don't believe in magic, I'm afraid. Just something to fit the theme so I can get through the evening."
"We'll just see, shall we?" He winked at her.
For the next ten minutes Edwina held up dresses, more for her grandfather's inspection than Allison's. He found something wrong with each one before Allison could voice an opinion. The gorgeous red chiffon was too red for her coloring, the white velvet, too small. An adorable satin jacket dress in lavender was too large and a strapless brocade, too old. "Edwina, really," he'd said dramatically.
"This is the last we have, Gramps." Screwing her face up in distaste, Edwina held up a ball length gown. Allison knew her mouth fell open as she examined the garment.
Gold, brown and dark green plaid. It was plaid taffeta. The skirt was overly full. Two straps extended from the sleeveless bodice to tie behind the wearer's neck.
Nigel Brown cocked his head and a slow smile spread across his face. "Yes," he murmured, as though to himself, "she's an autumn, and these are the perfect colors for her. The size is exact-she won't even have to try it on." Beaming, he turned to Allison. "Didn't I tell you we'd find exactly the right thing, my dear?"
She tried to keep horror from showing on her face. "But-but, Mr. Brown, this dress is…."
"Hideous?" Edwina supplied.
"Yes," Allison grasped at the word. "Yes, it's hideous. You can't possibly think I should wear this to my reunion." Her voice tapered to a whisper. "Can you?"
He stared at her with that same knowing smile and patted her shoulder. "You're looking at the gown on the hanger. Most clothes aren't at their best when they're hanging up. They need the human form to give them character. And this dress will show real character on you, Allison. You can trust me."
Standing, she walked to Edwina, who pursed her lips and raised her brows, openly showing the skepticism Allison wanted to show, but was too polite. Taking a piece of material in her hand, she stretched her arm to shoulder height. Volumes of material still fell in folds from the hanger.
"Mr. Brown, there's so much here. Too much, and … plaid. You do see, don't you? I can't possibly wear this."
Edwina heaved a sigh and looked to her grandfather.
"Allison," his voice fell, became smoother, melodious.
Allison blinked, dropped the material and focused hard to hear him.
"This dress is the right time period, the right size, and absolutely right for you. You want this dress, you're just not used to the style or the color. When you prepare for your evening, you'll feel like a queen. Your world will change, like magic. I promise you."
"You do?" A queen. Such a change would take magic, for she'd never felt like a queen. Well, maybe before the accident she'd been made to feel like a princess, but she'd been nine when the horse threw her, so that hardly counted.
"I do," he confirmed. "Now, shall we wrap this up for you?"
"Yes, please."
He smiled happily. "Oh, I'm so glad, my dear. You won't regret this purchase. I can see you now, dancing across the floor-" he waved his arms through the air as though guiding someone in a waltz "-the skirt billowing behind you and the crinkle of taffeta emphasizing every graceful turn. You'll be smashing!"
She hadn't noticed Edwina slipping away but when Allison turned, she saw the girl at the back of the store, putting the dress in a box. She hurried to the counter. "How much is it? I didn't even look at the price."
"Thirty dollars. Does that seem too much?" Edwina sounded as though she thought any amount would be too much.
"Are you kidding? It's far too little. I mean, this truly has to be vintage-surely no one would make a dress like this anymore."
Edwina coughed out a laugh. "That's true, surely no one would. Nonetheless, that's what we're charging."
Allison looked for Nigel. He stood where she'd left him, watching her. "Mr. Brown? Are you certain of this price?"
"You really are a good woman, Allison. Thirty dollars, please, and you let us worry about our profit margin, all right?"
Shrugging, she dug out her wallet. "All right, I guess. Thank you very much." Handing Edwina the money with one hand, she accepted the box with the other. "Well, if I ever need something old-fashioned again, I'll be back."
"Oh, I don't imagine you'll need us again," Nigel said, suddenly standing beside her. He frowned. "Hold still, my dear. You have a piece of lint in your hair." He reached his hand to her, letting his fingers linger briefly on her forehead. Warmth spread outward from his touch. The area around her hip and back felt hot. Her pain diminished and then petered out.
She felt her eyes widen in surprise. Twisting from side to side, she waited for the customary spasms to set her nerve endings afire, but nothing happened. "How did you-"
"There, I think I got it." He held out his fingers, but she didn't see anything.
Then it didn't seem important that she know how the pain had disappeared. Smiling at the two shopkeepers, she said, "Thanks. I'd better go now."
"Have a good time at your event," Nigel called as she went out the door.
With renewed vigor, she walked to the top of the alley and turned toward the hospital, certain she was late. Glancing at her watch, she was astounded to see that only a few minutes had passed from when she'd left Belk's. Belk's?
She spun around, confused. A woman outside Belk's pulled open the door and entered the department store. Another, holding a shopping bag with one hand and a child with the other, came out.
But I didn't go into Belk's-did I? Frowning, she looked at the mouth of the alley. There had been a sign, advertising a shop of some kind. No sign hung there now.
However, there was definitely a dress box under her arm, marked Your Desire. A moment's unease struck then faded to nothing. There was no place along the street except the chain department store where she could have gotten a dress.
Your Desire must be a new line at Belk's, she told herself, at the same time marveling at how good she felt. With an actual spring in her step, she headed back to work.
* * * *
I was the laughingstock of the evening.
So went Allison's thoughts as she drove the twisty road between town and her farm. She would never understand how she'd come to buy the dress she was wearing. The thing was horrid, awful, hideous. Yes. That was the perfect description.
Strangely, when she'd gotten dressed for the evening, she hadn't thought she looked hideous at all. In fact, when she finished dressing, with her hair curled and held softly off her face with satin-finish gold barrettes, and light touches of makeup applied, she'd examined herself critically in the full length mirror. A smile had touched her lips and her eyes. She looked fine, she thought. In fact, she'd shyly admitted to herself, she felt just like Cinderella going off to the royal dance. Twirling, pretending she was in the arms of her Prince Charming, she'd closed her eyes, loving the feel of the stiff fabric as it moved, and the sound of the taffeta swishing around her legs.
Tossing the end of a wool shawl over one shoulder, she'd confidently walked to her car and driven to the landmark hotel in town where the evening's activities were taking place.
The first hint something was wrong was the look on Mary's face. The two friends hadn't found time to speak earlier, so when she arrived Mary rushed to give her a hug. Then she'd stepped back and examined Allison.
"I love the way you've done your hair," she'd finally said.
"Thanks." Allison gave a hesitant smile, then twirled for Mary as she had for herself earlier that evening. Swish, crinkle, swish went the skirt. "What do you think? Isn't the dress something?"
"Yesss, it is. Nice… I like the shawl very much."
Allison's smile disappeared. She took in the concerned look on Mary's face. Her appearance was perfect. Long blond hair curled charmingly over her shoulders. The floor-length gown, white, scattered with sprigs of lavender-colored flowers, was a shirt-waist style with a short jacket to match. All of that, plus a petite frame and face with laughing blue eyes, made her the very picture of a young starlet from 1955, instead of the thirty-something widow and mother of two she actually was.
Even in her normal role, Mary was beautiful and graceful, the opposite of Allison. Despite her self-consciously unfavorable comparison to her friend, she and Mary had always been close.
"Oh dear, Mary. My outfit seemed just right when I got it. Do you really think it's awful?" She held out her skirt and looked down, frowning.
"No, no, of course it's not awful. Don't pay any attention to me, Allison. The dress is fine. There's just so much to it and the color is a little dark. Reminds me of autumn in Scotland instead of spring in Virginia. Actually-" she took a longer look at the dress, frowning in her examination "-it reminds me of that autumn I spent in Scotland after college, sampling Guinness at every pub I came to. This is the way a good many mornings looked to me." Shaking her head at the memory, she took Allison's hand. "I'm sorry. Don't worry, really, the dress is fine. Come on. Let me show you the table and what I'd like you to do."
That began the evening. Before long, she'd endured enough long stares and quick embarrassed glances to last a lifetime. Although Mary had insisted that Allison sit at her table for dinner and drinks, when the nametags had been handed out and the hellos said, Allison slipped out and headed home.
Twenty minutes later she turned from the dark county road onto her long driveway. The headlights swept the fence and pastureland as she made the turn, catching something out of place in their beams. She stopped and backed up. A man was rising from where he'd been sitting in her pasture. Not far away, the bumper of a light-colored sports car had made a good sized dent in one of her oak trees.
"Good Lord!" She jumped out. "Mister! Mister, can you hear me? Are you all right?"
He faced her, looking dazed but uninjured, from what she could see. He made no attempt to move toward her. "Hello? I've had an accident."
"Yes, I can see that." When he still made no effort to move toward her, she got a flashlight from the glove box, heaved a sigh of resignation and gathered up the volume of skirt so she could climb the wooden fence, grateful for once that she was unable to wear heels. Then she cringed when she thought of how her beautiful velvet slippers would look by the time she trudged across the wet grass. They'd look like hell, and so would the bottom half of her dress.
"'Like hell' can only be an improvement on the dress," she muttered.
Even with the flashlight, the headlights cast eerie shadows in front of her as she carefully picked her way across the wet, ankle high grass. Despite the dew-soaked hem, she sounded like an army of taffeta-clothed soldiers crossing the field. In the quiet, the scratchy, swishy noise of the stiff material rang through the night. Except for the sound of the car engine, her dress made the only noise, since the man had said nothing else
"Are you hurt?" she asked when she reached him.
A glance to the left showed a gaping hole in the fence that would have to be repaired very quickly. Lucky the sheep are in the lower pasture, she thought, then chastised herself for thinking about her sheep when something was clearly wrong with the man standing in front of her. The very handsome man, even with the sharp angles and dark shadows on his face cast by the unnatural lighting.
"Who are you?" he asked sharply.
His tone pierced her romantic examination of his face and raised her hackles. After the night she'd already had there was no way she felt like putting up with rudeness, even rudeness due to shock.
"I'm the owner of the fence you smashed through and the tree whose trunk you gouged. Now would you mind answering my question? I'm also a nurse. I want to know if I should call 911 for an ambulance or only call the police."
He looked like he was considering her statement.
"Is your car drivable? It doesn't look too bad, actually, from what I can see. Better than my tree."
"I don't know. I didn't try."
"Well, at least you didn't back up through the huge hole you put in my fence and drive off without a leaving me a note or anything. I appreciate that." She looked him over as well as she could. No blood that she could see. He was standing and didn't show signs of being in pain, or dizzy. His color was pretty good. So what didn't seem right?
"You don't look hurt. Come on up to the house. I'll get your insurance information and we can report this to the police." She hesitated. "You haven't been drinking, have you? Because things will go a lot worse for you if you have."
"No, I haven't been drinking."
"Okay, good. Come on, then." She turned and marched back toward the car. Swish, crinkle, scratch, swish.
"Wait."
She realized he wasn't following when he called. "What?" she said, sounding only slightly less exasperated than she felt.
"I can't follow you." He roughly raked his hand through his hair and grimaced. Dropping his arm, he blew out a harsh breath. "I can't see."
"ooool loooo (that means two thumbs up) LOVED 'Your
Desire' I got it finished in 1 day. Wow, it was hot. Enjoyed it immensely."
- Daun Ann, a reader
~~~~~~~~~~~
"…[The Artist and the Director is] a wonderful, sexy, fun, page-turning tale. And one that I have and will read again and again... And Dee S. Knight adds just enough sexual tension along with the magic to blend Awards Night into a perfect love story. I do hope both Dee S. Knight and Francis Drake will write together in the near future, what an awesome writing team they make! I highly recommend this book to everyone!" - 5 Ribbons, Kimberly Leslie, Romance Junkies
~~~~~~~~~~~
"…opens with a hint of magic and by the time you are done reading, the authors and characters will have you believing in magic as well ... Francis Drake and Dee S. Knight have created two tales that combine to create a book few will want to miss out on." - 5 Angels, Recommended Read, Amanda, Fallen Angel Reviews
~~~~~~~~~~~
"…a delightfully sensual book about discovering
what lies beneath the layers of one's expectations and dreams … sprinkled
with just enough magic to make me want to believe … intensely satisfying
with its clever storyline and memorable characters.
"compelling characters, whose love scenes really heat up the pages. THE
ARTIST AND THE DIRECTOR is an irresistible tale of storytelling magic.
"AWARDS NIGHT is a tale of pure magic…" - 4.5 Stars, Amelia
Richards, eCataRomance Reviews
~~~~~~~~~~~
"…a wonderful romance fantasy with passion hot enough to melt the polar caps. … romantic and very sensual … erotic romance that will make you tingle in all the right places." - 5 Hearts, Diane Tugman, The Romance Studio
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"…a charming anthology of new love and the joy in being yourself. … a keeper that will have me re-reading it not only for the great sex and wonderful characters, but also for a wonderful reminder of how true love can come when you are yourself." - 4 Cups, Anya Khan, Coffee Time Romance
~~~~~~~~~~~
"Like me, you'll be swept into another world with this fun fantasy for two. … The Artist and the Director is a story with a magical pull… Derica and Kailen are simply HOT together and set sparks off the pages. I would recommend this story of true opposites attract for an enjoyable afternoon of reading."
"…one of those feel-good stories that will not only put a smile on your face but will wring out your emotions and even bring a tear to your eyes. … You simply won't want to put Awards Night down till you finish the last page.
There is a hint of more stories to come in the Your Desire series, and I frankly can't wait" - 4/5 Stars, Aggie Tsirikas, JERR
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"…sexy, steamy, and indeed, magical. … . Indulge yourself in two tales of romance and some happy-ever-after." - Ansley Velarde, Road to Romance
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"An interesting, sweet tone makes these two sexy stories an enjoyable book." - 3 stars, Pam Traynor, Romantic Times
