Dee.”
Deanna’s smile felt almost as shaky as her knees.
She knew it was best if he left for a little while, but a strong part of her wanted to ask him not to.
And that fact alone was reason enough to need some distance from her boss-slash-fiancé, even if it were only for a few minutes. So she kept the words to herself. “Happy New Year, Drew.”
And then he was stepping out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.
Once he was gone, Deanna’s smile died and she drew in a deep breath.
Without his intoxicating presence, the room felt as spacious as her common sense told her it actually was. It was only when she was closed in with him that it seemed as if the walls were only two inches from that big … wide … bed.
She caught her reflection in the oversize mirror. “This is what you get for making rash decisions,” she whispered to herself.
The only response she got was her own glazed-looking expression staring back at her.
The silence of the house seemed to tick like the hands of a clock, and she grabbed her suitcase, hefting it onto the foot of the bed. Drew had given her a reprieve of sorts and she knew she’d better darn well use it wisely. The last thing she wanted was for him to come back and find her still standing around like some ninny who was afraid to climb into bed for what was left of a night’s sleep.
She unfastened the stiff latches and flipped open the case, taking out the dress that she’d added on top of her other clothing. When they’d stopped at her apartment on the way to the airport, she’d done her level best to discourage Drew from accompanying her inside. But the man simply hadn’t taken the hint and she hadn’t exactly known how to tell him flat-out to stay in the car when she couldn’t even come up with a plausible excuse.
So he’d walked up the iron-and-cement flight of stairs to her door and had braced herself for his comments when she’d let them in.
But all he’d done was silently glance over the stacks of shipping boxes that were crammed into her dining room, covering the floor and the small table and even the end of the couch. Boxes containing every item imaginable from small travel-size baby-food mills to closet organizers and exercise equipment that she’d taken from her mother’s home to send back to the companies from which Gigi had ordered them.
He hadn’t gaped. He hadn’t even raised his eyebrows.
She’d been so grateful for that that she hadn’t even thought to protest when he’d followed her down the short hallway to stand in the doorway of her bedroom while she’d opened her ancient suitcase that had already been packed for her spa weekend.
He’d told her that they would be in Texas for four days—through the weekend, and returning to San Diego on Wednesday. That didn’t necessitate a lot of clothing, fortunately, because she didn’t have much in her wardrobe that wasn’t either kick-around-the house casual, or wear-to-work professional. She had sweats that she wore to the gym where she coached girls’ volleyball in exchange for her membership fee, and she had jeans and shorts and suits.
But there wasn’t much call for her to own dresses suitable for an afternoon wedding, and when she’d scooted through her assortment of hangers for the second time without finding anything she could imagine wearing, she’d looked over her shoulder at him and told him that he would be better off going to Texas alone. He could announce their engagement without her being there, couldn’t he?
But he’d just given her that Drew look, the one that saw right through her excuses, and told her to pack one of her suits and to stop worrying about it.
“I’m not wearing something like this to a wedding.” She’d shrugged out of her blazer and shook it at him. “This is for work.”
“Well, even that might be debatable,” he’d drawled, and had joined her in front of her tight closet. He’d reached in and pulled out a frothy thing shoved far to the side. “Wear this, then.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he’d held the hanger up against her shoulders. “It doesn’t look like something you’d wear to work. So? Good for a wedding or not?”
She hadn’t been thinking about the dress. She’d been thinking about his comment about her suits. They fit and they were professional-looking and the complete opposite of the short skirts and clingy blouses that her fashionista mother preferred.
But knowing that the jet was waiting for them and not wanting to be the cause of their being any later than they already were, she hadn’t pursued the matter.
And now, she held the dress up to her shoulders in much the same way that Drew had, and turned to look at herself in the mirror.
It was a vivid, bright pink for one thing, and with her hair, that wasn’t a color she ever wore.
For another, it was ruffled.
Well, not exactly ruffled. The skirt was just made of dozens of pieces of fabric that all seemed to float independently of each other, making it look like it rippled even when she was holding it still. And the narrow, halter-style bodice was snug. And low.
She’d never worn it before.
For that matter, she hadn’t bought it.
Gigi had. She’d given it to Deanna for her last birthday, and when Deanna had protested that it was too expensive—a more tolerable excuse than that the dress simply wasn’t to Deanna’s taste—her mother had produced the receipt to prove that the clearance-priced dress wasn’t returnable. She’d lamented how her little Deedee just thrived on thwarting her and in the end, rather than go to battle over what was supposed to be a birthday gift, Deanna had taken the dress and put it in the back of her closet.
Where it had stayed. Lurking, as if it had been biding its time, waiting for Drew Fortune to find there.
Even as tired as she was, Deanna recognized the ridiculousness of the notion and she rubbed her eyes. At least the dress had come with a matching wrap. It was thin and almost translucent, but it would cover up her bare shoulders.
And as much as she didn’t want to wear a dress chosen by her mother, she did have to admit that it was more suitable for the occasion than anything else her closet had contained. So she hung up the dress and its wrap behind the door that J.R. had indicated, and she made quick work of unpacking the rest of her items, most of which she left folded and tucked in one of the empty chest drawers. When the suitcase was empty, she wedged it out of the way in one corner of the closet on the floor, hung Drew’s garment bag on the rack as far from her dress as was physically possible, and then turned to ponder his well-used duffel bag that was still sitting on the bed.
As his assistant, she really shouldn’t have had any issue with simply unpacking his things for him. And as his fiancée, if she were one of the true variety, she wouldn’t have had any issue, either.
Instead, she stared at the thing as if it would singe her fingers raw if she dared to unzip it.
In the end, she chickened out of dealing with it entirely, and transferred it from the foot of the bed to the chair in the corner.
Then she carried her small tote bag into
