Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Never in all my years of running a fashion empire have I seen such a stunning wedding dress.” Henry Rochella’s deep voice and British accent had Ella shivering, but more than that, his praise filled her with pride.
She turned to see her guest with his hands in his pockets, staring admiringly at the gown. The gown she’d never intended to wear for her wedding with Brian because, in her heart, this dress had only ever been meant for one man.
Ella raced her fingers along the train of the dress she’d designed years ago. “Thank you for making the last-minute drive out to the ranch tonight.”
She and Henry were inside the small design studio her father had built not far from the main house. With shaky hands, she removed her jean jacket and tossed it onto a nearby stool. Her nerves were shredded at the fact she was going behind Jesse’s back to try and force his hand into fake marrying her. Also, the prospect of Henry changing his mind and un-inviting her to Paris once he’d seen her designs in person might have had her on edge a bit too.
“This dress alone was worth the drive.” Henry’s gaze left the wedding gown to meet her eyes. “But you said you have something you’d like to tell me. Are you giving me an early answer?” He’d changed from his impeccably tailored suit and into jeans, a white polo, and a black leather jacket. Both looks worked for him.
“I’m getting married on New Year’s Eve,” she announced, a little breathless. “It was going to be a surprise wedding. Well, it’ll still be a surprise to pretty much everyone.” Dear lord, Jesse was going to kill her for this, but . . .
Ugh, that might not have been the best choice of words given his previous line of work.
“I thought it was important you know I’m getting married, and well, my husband would want to come with me to Paris if I were to accept,” she said, her voice firm as she fought the tremble in her limbs.
A fleeting look of disappointment crossed Henry’s handsome face, but he quickly recovered with a charming smile. “Congratulations.” Then, with raised eyebrows, he gestured to the wedding gown.
“Oh, I’m not wearing that,” Ella sputtered.
Henry Rochella was in her design studio in a town that was barely a blip on the map. My studio. But that wasn’t why her heart was pounding like she was a barrel racer in the thick of it. It was Jesse’s insane words an hour ago that kept flying around her head that had her on the mother of all edges. The highest of cliffs.
“You can’t possibly be serious. Not wear this dress?” Henry moved around her and ran his hand over the princess ball gown hanging from a hook on the wall, admiring it.
Delicate silver leaves and sequined flower petals covered the sheer corset top. The shimmery silk tulle skirt was chic and a combination of both milky white and light blush. It had to be the most beautifully romantic thing Ella had ever designed, closely tied with the gown she’d made for Rory’s wedding.
But no, Ella wouldn’t be saying a fake I do to Jesse before her family and friends in a gown that was meant for a real ceremony.
“I didn’t make it for me.” Ella shrugged when he faced her. “Or for anyone, really. Just made it.”
“That dress shouldn’t be worn by anyone other than you, love.” Henry’s eyes journeyed over her body as if picturing her wearing it. Not in a predatory way, but in a way she assumed a man with an eye for fashion would do. Not that there were any guys in her small town who knew anything about couture. They wore jeans. Plaid. Cowboy boots. Tees. “I certainly wasn’t expecting a surprise small-town wedding or this dress. But if you’re saying yes to Paris, then I implore you to wear this gown. The springtime wedding edition for our magazine is already put together, but we can upload some images to our website. Other social media outlets. This has to be seen.”
“What?” How many more times would she be surprised tonight?
It’d been the textbook definition of a long day . . . and now at nine o’clock at night, she was meeting with Henry and telling him she was getting married.
“This dress was not only meant to be worn, it was meant to be seen by millions of Rochella’s readers.” Henry flashed her a quick smile. “So, is it an official yes that you’ll be one of my Southern gems?” He moved closer to her, and she inhaled his expensive cologne. Was this how “rich” smelled? And why did she prefer Jesse’s more manly, rugged scent to expensive?
Jesse. The bane of my existence. And my future fake husband, whether ya like it or not.
“It’s a yes,” Ella whispered, her voice not in commission for a hot second. “But please don’t tell anyone about the wedding. We really do want to wait until New Year’s Eve for everyone to find out.” And prevent a possible psychopath from showing up sooner than we’re prepared.
“Who the hell are you?” Jesse’s voice could have melted metal.
Ella tensed, and she didn’t have to turn and face Jesse to know that the sight of her alone with another man, especially a stranger, had triggered his possessive instincts. The sound of his cowboy boots thundering across the wood floor made that perfectly clear.
Rory was right. Jesse couldn’t commit to Ella, but he also didn’t want anyone else to have her.
“Are you the fiancé?” Henry turned with a smile and extended a hand, obviously unaware that her “fiancé” was a dangerous man.
When Ella finally put eyes on Jesse, his jaw was so tight he could probably cut diamonds with his teeth. This was the man she’d seen stalk her way on the dance floor in that New York City nightclub when a guy had touched her without her consent. He was a man who could kill, possibly without remorse.
Her body grew cold at the idea. Had he ever done more than just punch one of the guys who used to grab her ass at the bars?
And why did she feel guilty for wondering?
“This is Henry Rochella. I just told him about our surprise wedding,” Ella finally said, clearing the horrible thoughts from her head. “I also mentioned you’d be coming to Paris with me,” Ella quickly added, hoping Jesse would keep his trap shut and not embarrass her in front of Henry.
She wouldn’t put it past him to do something like take her over his knee for disobeying him in moving forward with the marriage idea after he’d rejected it.
“You said yes,” Jesse said slowly, fire in his eyes that she’d gone against his orders. Not only had she committed to Paris, but she’d announced their fake wedding—the fake wedding plan he refused to go along with an hour ago.
“I did.” Ella sidestepped Henry, who’d lowered his hand, sensing Jesse had no intention of a formal hello. Or any kind of hello, for that matter.
“Looks like you might need some time alone.” Henry switched his focus back to Ella. “I’ll see you at the party, and well, the wedding.” He tipped his head and nodded at Jesse on his way out. Ella couldn’t blame him for not wanting to tango with a man who looked like a bull about to charge.
And maybe she didn’t want to be alone with Jesse either.
Once the door clicked shut, Jesse drew his hands to his hips, but his eyes quickly cut to the gown. And she swore his anger and bluster faltered. His brows dipped, and an expression that looked a lot like despair took over his handsome features. He was a different kind of handsome than Henry. Henry had a polished look. Even the cleft in Henry’s chin gave off a sophisticated, billionaire vibe.
But Jesse . . . Jesse was rugged-handsome. Dangerous-handsome. Panty-soaking handsome.
He hadn’t had a haircut in forever, but the longer hair worked for him. And if she had to choose only one celebrity to compare Jesse to, even though in her head he was an original, it’d be to a bearded Liam Hemsworth. Similar body type, face shape, and bone structure. But Jesse still had a bit more of the “grr factor,” as she called it.
“We’re not getting married.” The grit in his tone was like an invisible hand guiding her toward him. She was prepared to rebut, but when his startling blue eyes pinned her with a harsh look, she remained quietly captured in the moment.
There was something about the way he stared at her as she stood in front of the wedding dress that had her wanting to cry instead of fight.
She took an uneasy step back, worried she’d do something crazy. Punch him or beg him for their first kiss. “I’m going to Paris, so if you want to keep me safe there, you are fake marrying me, and we’re dealing with this psychopath on my schedule,” she said, finding her voice again. “I want to be as far away from my family and friends as possible to keep them out of this too. And with any luck, we’ll draw the asshole out within a few weeks, and then we’ll get fake divorced.” She started to turn, but he grabbed hold of her arm, halting her.
His chest heaved with harsh breaths as he examined her like he might toss her over his shoulder and carry out his earlier promise to tie her up in a room to keep her safe.
Ella sighed. “I’m going to tell my mom. And she’s going to have a hard time believing this.” She thought back to her conversation with her mom in the stables not too long ago. “But I don’t want her to know the real reason we need to marry. She’ll worry, and I’d rather her just . . .”
“No, Ella Mae. I don’t know if I need to give you an answer in every language I know, but this isn’t happening.”
She set her eyes on the hand wrapped around her arm, but he didn’t take the hint and let her go. “You can fake marry another woman, but that won’t remove the target from my head, remember?” she softly reminded him, hoping to win him over with honey rather than vinegar. “Besides, no one will believe that you’re in love with her. That she’s ‘the one.’ Just like no one really believed that I . . .”—she lowered her eyes to the wood floors—“with Brian.”
She thought he’d release her after that, but he kept hold of her as if he’d never let go. “I already told you I won’t use you as bait.”
Ella faked a laugh. “At this point, if he knows your name, then he most likely knows mine. If he truly wants revenge, I’m not actually bait. I’m the target.” She lifted her head but couldn’t find it in her to look him in the eyes. “Is that why you stayed away from me? Why you felt you could only give me the weekend in New York?” she asked softly. “You’re a danger to me?”
He was quiet for a moment before answering, “Mostly. But . . .”
That unfinished line of thought was going to screw with her, and she knew he’d leave his words hanging in the air just out of reach. Like always.
“And I didn’t think you could ever forgive me once you learned the truth. I have a lot of blood on my hands. And I’m still . . . broken.”
Ella swallowed the lump of emotion lodged in her throat and lifted her chin, surprised that he’d opened up to her. It was a small sliver of an opening, but it was more than he usually gave.
His confession also had him pulling his hand free and taking two steps away, his attention snagging on the dress once again. “Was that what you were going to wear for Brian?” His voice was hoarse, like his words were stuck in the muck, and he had to pull and pull to get them out.
“No, I made this long before I met him,” she said. “I bought something off the rack to wear for him.” She stood alongside Jesse and stared at the dress, and a weird quiet filled the room.
She forced herself to look away from the dress, worried she might cry, and his hand slipped to her hip, and he guided her in his direction.
“Ella, I?—”
“Jesse McAdams and Ella Mae!” Her mother’s voice boomed through the room, cutting off Jesse’s words. He dropped his hand from Ella’s hip. “A wedding.” Her mom strode across the room, panic-stricken. “Henry Rochella just knocked on my door to congratulate me and to ask if we needed anything for the New Year’s Eve wedding.” Her mom’s hands banded tight across her chest as she looked back and forth between the two of them. “After I picked my jaw up from the floor and wiped my drool, because well, he’s rather dashing, I had to recover from shock and act like I knew what in the blazes he was talking about.”
“I can explain.” Ella stepped forward. But how? How do I explain?
“Is that why A.J. looked like he was going to deck you earlier?” her mom asked Jesse. “You told him you two were getting married.” She shifted her attention back to Ella, and before Jesse could summon a lie, she said, “I don’t understand.”
Right. Our conversation in the stables doesn’t add up now.
“After dinner, Jesse proposed. And since I said yes to Rochella, and I’m leaving for Paris after New Year’s, and with everyone already going to be here for New Year’s Eve, we thought, why not? Let’s just do it. Beckett can officiate.”
Her mom’s gaze journeyed over Jesse as if she couldn’t decide whether to cry or hug him. “Are you telling me you finally got your head together because of Paris?”
“I . . .” Jesse looked at Ella, and she held her breath because it was now or never. He could either say yes, making it official that he agreed to her plan of becoming his fake wife in order to lure out the psycho, or he could say no. In which case, her mom would badger him with questions and want to know what the hell was going on. And Ella knew that was the last thing Jesse wanted. “I, um.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a quick moment before turning to Ella’s mom. “I have to ask your husband for Ella’s hand first. If he says yes, then yes, consider my head firmly removed from my ass, ma’am.”
Jesse must have noticed she was two seconds from collapsing because he secured a hand around Ella’s arm and pulled her tight against him.
Husband and wife.
Fake husband and wife.
But only because someone wants me dead.
The tears streaming down her mother’s face might as well be the death of Ella. She’d be breaking her mom’s heart soon enough.
Her mom gathered her in her arms for a quick hug, then grabbed hold of Jesse. “I have a lot to do. And we have no time to do it.” She swiped away her tears with the backs of her hands.
“Please don’t tell anyone outside the immediate family,” Ella quickly told her. “We want it to be a surprise.”
“Well, you know I love a good surprise party, but a surprise wedding? Even better.” She slapped her hands together, and Ella could see the wheels turning so fast in her mother’s mind she was afraid her head might fly off. And then her attention moved to the wedding gown. “Oh, Ella, you’re going to be the most beautiful bride the world has ever seen.”
Great. Now how could she not wear that dress?
“A wedding. Paris. This is a bit crazy,” her mom tossed out in a breathy voice.
“Tell me about it,” Jesse said under his breath.
As soon as her mom bustled from the studio muttering decorating plans, Jesse faced her. He let go of a deep sigh as he stroked his jaw, a contemplative expression crossing his face. “A.J. is gonna hit me when we tell him the plan. And my team at Falcon may not approve.”
“Good thing it’s my life and not theirs.” Ella shrugged, trying to pull off nonchalant when she was anything but.
“We’ll need extra security at the party in case word gets out ahead of time. I don’t think we have anything to worry about, but I’m not taking chances.” Jesse blinked a few times as though trying to figure out how he’d gotten strong-armed into this crazy plan. Ella had to admit that if her mom hadn’t burst in all aflutter with hearts and tears in her eyes, Jesse might not have given in. “There is one thing we’ll need to take care of before our, um, fake wedding.” He rolled his tongue over the seam of his lips, his eyes moving to her mouth. “The kiss after we say our I do won’t be fake. And I’ll be damned if the one thing Brian’s had that I haven’t happens for the first time in front of an audience.”
Her.
Heart.
Stopped.
Ella placed a hand to her chest when her heart jump-started and began to beat a mile a minute. Not because of what he said, but how he’d said it. His voice was rough and deep, and she was back in that hotel room three years ago, his mouth against her ear ordering her not to come until he gave his permission. She shuddered, chills covering every inch of her body.
“What?” she mouthed, a bit lightheaded.
“Brian. He’s had your mouth,” Jesse said darkly, slowly drawing his gaze back to her eyes. “I don’t like that.”
“But Brian?—”
Jesse slowly shook his head in warning. “I don’t want to hear his name,” he cut her off, his eyes darkening to match the timbre of his voice. “He’s lucky he never made it to my hit list because if he’d ever hurt you, he’d be long dead.” He closed the space between them. “Just remember that about me,” he rasped. “Remember what kind of man you’re fake marrying. Remind yourself of who I am.” He brought his face closer to hers, and her heartbeat was out of control. “We’re playing pretend, Ella Mae, but there’s nothing fake about who I am. And who I will always be. A danger to you.” He paused and took a step backward as if not ready to claim her mouth yet. “Now, excuse me while I go get punched by three of your brothers after I ask your father for your hand in marriage.”