…
devour her.
“TOLD YOU THIS collection would be your break, Threads.”
I smiled, not taking my eyes off the model prancing down the runway. My stomach churned like an overworked loom with stress and adrenaline.
“Don’t jinx it. There’s still the couture collection to go.” I flinched as the model sashayed too much, wobbling in the insanely high heels I’d buckled to her feet.
My cell-phone buzzed in the only place I had available in this dress—my cleavage.
No, no. Not now.
I’d been waiting to hear from him for two days. Lying in bed in the fancy hotel, willing my phone to chime, granting me the intoxicating rush of flirtation. But nothing. Not a peep.
A month of this…what was this? It wasn’t a relationship. Liaison? Nameless courtship? I had no name for the craziness I indulged in. I panted for scraps of communication like a high-school wallflower.
It’s time to end it.
Another message vibrated, shattering my willpower to ignore him with his impeccable timing—as usual.
“You know the couture line will raise the roof. Stop being modest.” Vaughn nudged my shoulder with his.
Ignoring my brother and the suddenly heavy cell-phone, I winced as the model flicked her hair pirouetting at the end of the runway, before flouncing away in a whirl of pink silk.
Too much attitude for that dress. I shook my head, stopping the inner monologue that never shut up when it came to models flaunting my creations.
“I don’t know anything anymore. Stop nettling me, V. Let me focus.”
Vaughn scowled. “I don’t know why you’re so worried. Cheque books are already open. You’ll see.”
Another message arrived, sending my phone into throbbing excitement. Even my phone got excited when he texted.
My heart fluttered. A hot flush covered my body remembering the last sentence I’d received from Kite007. I’d made the mistake of reading it just as I boarded the short flight from England to Spain.
Kite007: I don’t need to know what you look like to get hard—guess where my hand is.
Of course I couldn’t help myself. Because I was a sex-starved woman surrounded by over-protective men.
I replied: I don’t need to hear what you sound like to get wet—guess where my hand wants to be?
I’d never been so blatant. With anyone. The moment I sent it I freaked out, wishing I could unsend.
I’d spent the trip in a confused state of arousal and denial. And never received a reply.
Until now.
I hid my flush, pretending nothing enticing taunted me on my phone. I loved my father and brother—so damn much—but if they knew…the proverbial shit would hit the fan.
“Oh, God.” I clutched my heart as another stick-thin model paraded down the catwalk, failing to show off the intricate peacock-blue dress to its advantage. “No one will buy it if they can’t see the potential of the design.”
Vaughn sighed. “You worry too much. It’s stunning. Anyone can see that.” His dark eyes landed on mine. “Allow a thrill of pride—just once, Threads. It’s going perfectly, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.” My twin brother draped his arm over my shoulders, tucking me against him. Considering the word ‘twin’ meant mirror image, Vaughn was taller, better looking, and overall more vibrant than me. He made others envious with his natural beauty, while I made others feel beautiful with dresses sewn with twenty-four carat gold and dyed with exclusive inks costing a small fortune.
I supposed that was my talent: making others feel worthy while he sold products thanks to his allure. Mirror image alright—the direct opposite.
“You’re a model. Why aren’t you showcasing my clothes?”
Vaughn laughed. “My figure doesn’t look good squashed into some sequinned frock. Create some decent clothes for males, then I might stoop and be your headline act.”